


Days of Rain, Nights of Stars

by End0fSummer



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Cinnamon Roll Dovahkiin, Cinnamon Roll Kaidan Just A Little Burned, Comfort Sex, Creepy Ulfric Stormcloak, Dark Past, Dibella Works Fast, EnaiSiaion’s Wintersun, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Mehrunes Dagon (freeform), Multi, Once Dibella’s Servant Always Dibella’s Servant, Pansexual Dovahkiin, Past Relationship(s), Redemption, Romance, Sex, an excuse to write about Kaidan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/End0fSummer/pseuds/End0fSummer
Summary: Selene gazed from Kaidan’s eyes to the thing she’d touched on his temple—a tattoo, hidden under his hair until he’d tucked it behind his ears. What would happen if she touched it again? She held her breath and reached out. Her fingers brushed his skin.“Selene.”Desire rippled through Kaidan’s voice. Selene opened her eyes—his expression sharpened to wary curiosity. “Sorry.” She snatched her hand back. “Thought I saw something there.”“Look.” He shook his hair loose. “I’m good with a sword, I can see you safe to wherever you’re bound.”Selene shivered. “Have you ever…” she bit her lip and glanced down at the river. She’d intercepted prayers she shouldn’t have, her dreams were haunted by dragons and mountaintop battles and songs she’d never heard, but...He shrugged. “Ever what?”Her words came out in a tumble. “Have you ever seen something you weren’t sure about? Whether or not it was really there, I mean?”He smiled, a sad smile that barely tweaked the corners of his mouth and didn’t light his eyes. “I’ve wondered the same thing since you walked into my cell. Now,” he said, taking her hands in his and pulling her up to stand, “where do you want to go?”
Relationships: Female Breton Character(s) & Kaidan (Elder Scrolls), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Kaidan, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Kaidan, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 50





	1. Love at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Selene’s made her peace with destiny—after all, it’s not a bad life. Serving as Dibella’s Sibyl has its perks—silk sheets and sweet companions and all the passion her heart desires. But destiny’s like lightning, and when it strikes twice, Selene’s choices push her out of her soft bed and into a story she never imagined. Luckily, a certain red-eyed swordsman crosses her path, with his own destiny and his own darkness. And if they can manage to save each other, the two of them just might be enough to keep the rest of the world spinning.
> 
> *For anyone who doesn’t know, Kaidan is an amazing follower mod created by LivTempleton. He’s got his own lore, his own quests, and his own way of romancing. Not that he needs it—he’s funny and cute, he fights like a barbarian and talks like Jon Snow. What’s not to like?*
> 
> Comments and feedback greatly appreciated. There are fewer things I love more than to talk about this stuff.

Selene wasn’t sure what awakened her, in those still, dark hours before dawn. Maybe it was a skeever skritching behind the walls or a wayward torchbug drawn to her open window and Dibella’s braziers.

Perhaps she’d had a disturbing dream—there’d been enough of those, lately.

She shivered and sat up with a sigh, pulling a purple velvet throw around her body, and stumbled to the window. A nightjar trilled from the ledge and flew off in a rustle of feathers. Selene stood on her tiptoes and leaned out over Markarth. She wasn’t the only one awake. Guards patrolled the stone walkways below, their torches dim and smoking. Metal clinked and the blacksmith’s waterwheel plunked under the rush of the falls crashing into the city from the top of the mountain that served as the city walls—walls, foundation and, if legend was to be believed, the bones of the city itself.

Selene took one last deep breath, icy water and juniper filling her lungs and the ever present stench of molten silver stinging her nose, and turned back to her bed, frowning at its inviting silk sheets and squashy pillows. Her stomach grumbled and fluttered. She wasn’t used to being awake before the rest of the world ate breakfast, and didn’t like it one bit. She had no idea what to do with herself—she’d packed her valise before bed last night, her carriage wasn’t due until late-morning, and her Sisters wouldn’t wake for hours, yet.

A flash of gold caught her eye. Dibella’s likeness stood tall and proud in the light of the braziers, shadows lingering in the curves and hollows of Her body. The city, her chamber, her bed…all of it faded to shadow in her Goddess’s presence.

A stick of incense smoked at the edge of the brazier—Selene closed her eyes and breathed deep of night-blooming jasmine and evening primrose, honey and beeswax and polished wood. So much _softer_ than the rest of Markarth. She let the velvet throw slip from her body to the floor, and knelt on the plush puddle, her hands palm-up, resting against her thighs. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach stilled under Dibella’s gaze…

“Sibyl?”

Selene pried open her eyes to mid-morning sunlight glaring off Dibella’s image and shut them again with a moan. Her knees ached, and her stomach burned; the butterflies in her stomach had turned into birds—or even the dragons from her nightmares—flapping their great wings around a too-small space.

“Sibyl…”

Joane’s voice rose and fell in a plaintive whine. Her feet shuffled impatiently on the stone floor. Selene could feel her lover’s brow furrowing, the heart-shaped mouth drawing up in a practiced pout.

“Fine.” Joane sighed, resigned. “ _Selene_.”

“I’ve not been called Selene in a decade.” She stretched and yawned and blinked away the grit of sleep. Despite her shaky stomach, a smile fluttered over her lips. “It feels good. You’ll get used to it, you know.”

“I won’t.”

Selene’s smile faded. Joane was right—she wouldn’t have a chance to get used to it, at least for a while. Selene was leaving that very morning. Leaving Markarth, leaving the temple, leaving her Sisters.

Leaving Joane.

A few short months ago, the prospect of leaving Joane would have been unthinkable. Selene knew every inch of her body more intimately than her own. But Joane’s body—her beauty, her love—was another comfort, another luxury. Everything Selene needed to leave behind.

It was easy to find beauty in a beautiful, safe place.

“This isn’t goodbye. Not forever,” Selene said, leaning against Joane’s bare legs. She craned her neck and looked up into violet eyes, shining and glossy with tears. “I will come back.” But Joane only sank to the floor in graceful silence, her silken thighs cradling Selene’s hips, her breasts and raven curls soft against Selene’s back.

Selene _had to_ leave, and she had no intention of making their goodbyes harder. But when Joane’s lips brushed the nape of her neck, and her fingers traced warm, lazy circles over her breasts, Selene found she didn’t have the strength to push her away. “And when I do come back, think of the stories I’ll have to tell,” Selene said, her breath coming faster, her nervous stomach a distant memory.

“Everything I need is here,” Joane purred, her fingers drifting lower, sending chills over her belly and hips. A sweet ache pulsed between her thighs. “Stay. Please.”

Selene’s heart pounded, sending what had to be every ounce of her blood coursing through her core. Her hips rocked forward, languid and sweet, and the last vestige of reason, of logic—that tiny little voice telling her _no_ —heaved one last pitiful gasp and collapsed in hushed defeat. She turned, silencing Joane’s cry of victory with her lips—her hands seeking and fevered, lost to soft skin and honeyed tongues and the passion she was born to.

* * *

Selene should have listened to that voice. Leaving was always going to hurt, and she wasn’t surprised more tears had been cried than she expected. But Selene hadn’t imagined every tear would be her own. Joane had expressed the last of her sorrow through anger, and when the time came for Selene to walk through the bronze doors one last time, she found herself walking alone.

Now that Selene was out under blue skies, outside the city and on the road, Joane’s cold fury didn’t hit quite so close. After all, Selene had denied the truth for months—months of wandering around lost, feeling incomplete. Not quite herself. The recent nightmares and strange glimpses into…what, Selene wasn’t sure, had only served as a catalyst. She stifled what should have been a heavy sigh, not wanting to attract more attention from her fellow passengers. Their eyes had raked her over when she boarded, taking in her gauzy robes, her smooth, golden-brown skin, as well as the deep purple cloak shielding her from the lingering fog of a morning in the Reach. And those knowing gazes, dripping with pity and shame, had done nothing but deepen her resolve—it was time to go.

She only wished her Sisters had been as easy to convince as her Goddess.

“You’re serving Dibella right here,” Joane had said, stirring the thick decoction she’d mixed to cure her hangover with a moue of distaste.

Dibella only knew why Selene had chosen the morning after the Mid Year Festival to confide in Joane. They’d both indulged too much and slept too little. For Selene, the night was a blur of music and mead and honey-sweet skin, of ricocheting between laughter and tears—the last festival she’d spend at the temple for a long while. 

“You’re Sibyl,” Joane continued, tipping the cup to her lips and swallowing the potion in one sip. She squinted and shuddered as it went down. “Ugh. You can’t just…leave.”

“Yes, I’m Sibyl, but it doesn’t mean I have the answers I need. I get them from Dibella. And, when I was feeling unfit to serve…insecure, I suppose,” she mumbled, her head clanging. She rubbed her temples and stretched her neck from side to side. “Dibella mentioned I might benefit from seeing a bigger picture.” Selene shrugged. “It sounded good at the time.”

“Well.” Joane threw her empty cup into the brazier and held out a palm to keep Selene at arms’ length. She slid her body onto an empty plinth and crossed her legs. “It doesn’t sound good to me. Explain.”

So, she had. She’d told Joane nearly everything. How she’d intercepted snippets of prayers meant for others—a woman in Riften who’d lost her husband to a so-called practitioner of the Dibellan arts, one who’d given him a child while her own hearth lay bare. Another prayer—more like a demand—from a boy in Windhelm who’d lost his parents, who’d suffered abuse at the hand of one who’d been tasked to care for him. She’d seen him crying out, alone in a cold, dark house, performing the Black Sacrament.

The nightmares—dark, leathery wings and fiery eyes and fire on top of a mountain—she’d kept to herself.

Joane had shaken her head. “But those prayers…how did you hear them? The boy prayed to Sithis. That’s obvious. And the Riftwoman was surely praying to Mara. Or…maybe Sithis, as well,” she said with a laugh and a toss of her head.

“That’s it, exactly. We stay behind closed doors. We provide comfort and help others find beauty in their lives. In this beautiful place.” Selene gestured toward the shining paneling and warm braziers and soft velvet cushions strewn across the floor.

Joane sighed and smiled, hopping down from the plinth and crossing the room to Selene’s side. Selene knew what she was thinking—she’d changed her mind, after all. She’d finally come to her senses. “Yes, we are, my darling,” she said, letting the backs of her fingers trace Selene’s arm from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. Shivers flew up Selene’s spine. “And what’s wrong with that? You’re…happy. Here. With me.”

Selene nodded. “I am happy. With Dibella, with you. But,” she said, grasping Joane’s wrists in her hands, her eyes pleading, begging the woman to see. “I don’t know how, but I’m getting these glimpses…people I can’t comfort, not here. People who don’t see a quarter of the beauty, the love, the comfort we wallow in every day.”

“None of this makes any sense. It’s not our place to—“

“It’s mine.” Her words came out a whisper, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “It is mine. Since when does love make sense? Or passion? Dibella knows my heart, and She knows it’s no longer here, behind these walls.”

Joane rolled her eyes. Selene tried another tack. “I went to the market, months ago. Hadn’t been out in forever…” The memory was a painful one, and Selene swallowed hard over the lump in her throat.

“You’re not supposed to go out at all. It’s not your place.”

_It’s not your place._

Joane’s words hardened Selene’s spine. It was one thing to convince her to stay for her, for Joane, for the sake of their love. But to use guilt and shame…and propriety!…to keep her locked away? Selene had had enough. A sliver of steel crept into her voice. “Did you hear about the murdered woman? The tourist from Cyrodiil?”

Joane’s eyes rounded. “You were there? Why did you not tell me?”

“I was talking to Kerah, at her stall,” Selene said, and frowned, another sore spot popping into her head. “Did you know her husband’s seeing someone else? The silversmith?”

“Many people are unfaithful to their spouses.” Joane covered Selene’s hands with her own. “But we’re supposed to offer comfort anyway, if they come to us with love.”

“I know, I do,” Selene said, suppressing irritation. Joane didn’t need to school her on the tenets of Dibella. “But Kerah thinks he’s going to leave. Leave her and Adara.”

Joane gazed at her like she’d grown two heads. “Those things happen every day.”

“They do, but why?”

“Well,” Joane said, pulling her hands away and crossing them over her chest. “I’m not sure why you’re going on about this. You sound a little prim. You’re not my only lover, and I know I’m not yours.”

“We’re different,” Selene said. Suddenly cold, she tucked her hands into the sleeves of her robe. “We make no promises. And we don’t lie. Anyway, the murder…”

Joane motioned for her to go on.

“After the guards caught the man who did it, I stayed for a bit. In case anyone needed to talk.” Selene looked down at her lap. “A woman came toward me—she wasn’t anyone I knew—and spit in my face.” Selene heard Joane’s sharp gasp, but didn’t look up. “She told me a ten-a-septim whore who did nothing but sit in her golden tower and…and fuck half of Skyrim had no business advising anyone.”

“No.”

Tears dotted Selene’s orange silk robe. “She said I had no idea what people like her went through. I was irrelevant. Useless trash.”

“She didn’t mean it.” Joane slid her hands inside Selene’s sleeves and laced their fingers together. “It’s not true.”

Dibella’s comfort was a wonderful thing. Warm hands, soft lips. And, when necessary, sweet, sweet lies.

“She did,” Selene said, and sniffed. “And she’s exactly right.”

She’d come to the crux of it all. She’d prayed for months, prayed that Dibella would touch Joane’s heart and make her see. But she was still Sibyl. It was no one’s responsibility but her own. “We stayed in this tower, safe and warm and happy, and Skyrim changed around us. People have changed,” she said, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Or, maybe they haven’t. Maybe it’s always been this way and we had no idea. But I can no longer serve Dibella like I know I should without understanding—what sort of desperation drives a man to kill a stranger? What drives people to treat those they love like…” Selene searched for an apt comparison. The woman from the market’s insult fit perfectly. “Like useless trash?”

Joane’s mouth set in a line, but Selene pressed on. “If I don’t understand what’s wrong, my words of advice and comfort are platitudes, only. I can’t live like that.”

_I can’t._

A wheel hit a rut in the road and the carriage lurched, throwing Selene against her seat mate, a Nord man named Gjukar who’d blushed as he’d climbed into the carriage an hour earlier and introduced her to his sister, Anja. They’d sat stiff and silent ever since. Selene murmured her apologies and leaned back in her seat, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She rubbed her sore arm—the man’s arm had slammed into her like the butt of an axe. Hard upper body, likely the rest of him was as well. What sort of life lent itself to a body made of iron?

Anja, seated across from her, coughed, and Selene smiled. The road was getting dusty.

Anja coughed again, louder. Selene caught her gaze, and her heart withered under the disgust she saw there.

“You one of them women from the tower, then?” Anja looked pointedly at Selene’s amulet, the blushing, enameled lily dripping with dew.

Selene shook her head, trying not to let her smile slip.

Gjukar drew a little closer. “Sure you are,” he said, snorting when Selene moved away. “Pretty woman like you, dressed like that…”

Selene boiled a little inside, and bit back a retort. Who were these people to demand things from her? Did they think she owed them anything? Stories? Pointers in the bedroom? Tips and tricks?

_It is easy to find beauty in a beautiful, safe place._

Selene’s words came back to haunt her, but it wasn’t her own voice ringing in her ears, chiding and encouraging all at once. She knew that voice—she’d listened to it, reveled in it, every night since the eve of her twelfth birthday.

The morning sun shone full in Anja’s face, her skin heavily lined for someone so young, her hair dull and thinning at the edges of the threadbare hood she wore. Her hands were scarred and her body thin. Too thin, her shadowed blue eyes loomed enormous in her bony face. Selene had noticed while boarding that Gjukar had lost an eye. Maybe he’d fought in one of Skyrim’s seemingly unending wars. Or maybe he’d lost it in a tavern brawl. But the other eye seemed to droop, as well as the sides of his mouth.

Was this the desperation that drove men and women to abandon the Divines? Evidence of it, anyway.

_How can I advise and comfort without truly understanding what’s wrong?_

Selene closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she tried to see her traveling companions with new light. There were laughter lines there, as well as scars. That had to count for something. “I serve Dibella in my own way. On my own terms. But I live out here, now,” she said with a surprising jolt of joy, casting her gaze over sunlit grassy hills in the distance, plump rabbits sheltering under scrubby junipers by the road.

“Well,” Gjukar drawled, “there’s lots of men out here who need Dibella’s services, true enough.”

Selene took a deep breath. She needed to work on her patience. “My charge is to seek out beauty and love,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too prim, as Joane had put it. “And I imagine there’s more of that beyond city walls than behind them.”

“You imagine!” Gjukar laughed, then, and tapped his cheek, looking her full in the face for the first time. Scars ran from his clumsily-stitched socket, white and stringy, joining up with laughter lines and the yellow scruff of his beard. “Talk to me again after your first bout with a saber cat! Tell me how beautiful you feel then!”

Selene’s mouth fell open and she looked to Anja, sure she was missing the joke. Saber cat?

But no, Anja laughed louder than her brother, launching into the story of how he’d lost his eye without missing a beat. No pain tinged her voice, no regret. And Gjukar joined in, painting the whole thing as some sort of enchanting adventure. Selene listened, and with each moment, the walls of Markarth shrank in her mind until there was nothing behind her, nothing in front of her, nothing to either side of her but wildness. Emptiness. Danger. Had she made a mistake? Fear and despair bubbled up in her chest, and she shifted in her seat. She could still go back. She could. Only a half day’s walk. She might not be Sibyl anymore, but…

The carriage lurched up over a rise in the road, and every thought in Selene’s head flew away. A mountain filled her gaze, white and massive, rising far, far in the distance. So tall, its peak disappeared into white, rolling clouds against an immense blue sky so blue, so bright, it hurt her eyes.

A tear tickled her cheek. She wiped it away and pointed. “What’s that?”

More laughter. Selene sat on the edge of her seat. “Seriously. Please. What is that? I’ve never seen a mountain like that.”

Anja scoffed. “Have you never been out of Markarth?” She narrowed her eyes. “Where you from, anyway?”

“A village in High Rock. Tiny. They brought me…I mean,” Selene stammered, blushing, “I came to Markarth when I was twelve.”

Anja nodded, and for the first time since they’d boarded, the disgust in her eyes softened, just a touch, with what looked like pity. Selene wasn’t sure she liked it, much, but it was better than the alternative. Anja leaned back in her seat and smiled. “That’s Snow-Throat. And you can call it a mountain if you like, but that’s like calling Black-Briar Reserve a drink. Doesn’t tell half the story.”

“Lucky there’s a clear day,” Gjukar chimed in. “Usually, you can’t see it until we’re in Whiterun, with all the clouds.” He smacked her knee with the back of a calloused hand. “You’ve really never seen the Throat of the World?

Anja gasped. Selene stared at Gjukar with rounded eyes. She was Sibyl of Dibella. She’d been glared at and spit on, true, but no man had ever struck her, even with no harmful intent. Her knee stung a little under the force of his blow.

Gjukar blushed and murmured his apologies. “I meant no harm.”

Selene nodded. “I didn’t think you did. I was just surprised.”

“I was too.” Gjukar’s brow rose and he gestured out over the road. “Want to know more, then?”

Selene looked again, but the mountain had disappeared behind another rocky rise. She looked from Gjukar to Anja, a smile lighting her face. “Tell me.”


	2. Lowered Expectations

The banks of Lake Ilinalta made for a nice campsite. Thick stands of evergreens provided a fragrant canopy, and the sun was starting to set gold and pink over Snow Throat, or the mountain, as Selene still thought of it. No matter what Anja said, a peak so majestic and memorable needed no other name.

Selene had adapted in other ways. Under Anja’s tutelage, she’d caught a perch from the lake using a fishing rod she’d helped whittle from a whippy alder branch. Hunger had dulled her disgust over the slimy guts and glassy eyes, and she’d even managed to help clean the catch. Grilled over hot coals, along with bread and honeycomb Gjukar had pilfered from a nearby hive, they made a much better supper than the hard bread and jerky they’d eaten on the road the past two nights.

Selene watched her companions, comfortable around the campfire, sipping ale and mead and telling stories. They’d picked up two additional passengers on the way—Falgeir, from a farm outside Rorikstead, and Azhure, on the way back to Ivarstead after visiting her sister on the outskirts of the Reach. Selene noticed the way Falgeir’s eyes drifted toward Anja. And Gjukar couldn’t keep his gaze from Azhure, whose dreamy, sad eyes and sweet, pixie face made her look like a creature from a fairy story.

Selene had done her part to encourage the pairings, settling Anja near Falgeir and prompting her to talk about her childhood, of growing up on a farm outside Karthwasten. Anja was shy, but she’d had no trouble waxing poetic over the life of a farmer—up with the sun and to bed with it too, she’d said, blushing, but holding Falgeir’s gaze. Selene left them discussing the merits of a bull Falgeir was due to purchase from a farm in the Rift. And hints of Gjukar’s bravery in the face of saber cats and his steady job as a brewer in Markarth had gone a long way with Azhure, the widow of a Stormcloak soldier. Selene had a feeling that although she desired a brave, strong man, she also yearned for a bit of security and a less-adventurous life.

Anja already seemed brighter, less careworn than she had in Markarth, and Gjukar’s mouth didn’t pull down at the corners anymore. Of course, everyone was a bit more relaxed now that Forsworn territory was behind them and they didn’t have to spend another night sleeping in the crowded carriage.

“What about you, Selene?” Azhure leaned around the campfire, flames dancing in her eyes. “A priestess of Dibella has to have stories.”

She had plenty, but the ones Azhure likely wanted to hear, Selene had no interest in telling. Anja seemed to notice her hesitation. “How about a song,” she suggested. “I heard you humming this morning. Lovely voice.”

Gjukar and Falgeir murmured their agreement. Their driver, the taciturn Bennar, had retired to his bedroll already, his eyes barely staying open long enough for him to shovel down a bit of fish. Selene glanced at their guard, perched at the edge of the wagon. The grizzled Orsimer hadn’t spoken one word to Selene or anyone else the entire trip, even to give her name. She’d sat on the driver’s box with Bennar or with her legs dangling from the gate of the wagon, her hooded blue eyes scanning for danger that for the time being, hadn’t materialized. To their surprise, she nodded, her topknot bouncing. “A song’s alright,” she said, pointing with her bottle of ale. “But nothing too rowdy. Don’t want to attract anything bigger than torchbugs to the fire.”

Anja arched a brow, and shared an amused smile with Selene.

“Alright,” Selene said, and looked out at the mountain, shining red and gold. She’d be even closer tomorrow, when they finally reached Helgen. A shiver zipped up her spine, the thrill of seeing new places and new faces still a novelty. She cleared her throat and hummed her starting note, a low, mournful sound.

“My lover's heart is numbing stone  
That hides in ice beneath our sight.  
So some decry, ‘It is not there,  
While others whisper, ‘yet, it might.’”

If she’d sung a Nord war ballad, she’d have risen to stand above them, lofty and stern like a Skald, but this was a romance. And seated by the fire, her performance was more intimate, her profile melancholy, her skin dusky gold. Selene might not know much about saber cats, but she did know audiences.

“Though stone is born from fevered ash,  
Once formed, it yields no whiff of heat.  
So too, her heart betrays no love,  
Nor comforts those embracing it.

As mountains grow and yearn for sky…”

Selene watched her audience as she sang, watched the couples around the fire, watched them contrive to snuggle closer. Watched their eyes grow shining and wet over Yngvar’s tale of uncertain love, his entreaty to look beneath the surface, to look for love even in the coldest of places. Selene didn’t blame them—the first time she’d heard Yngvar, the guard to the Silver-Blood clan, recite the poem, she’d cried, too. And marveled at the depths he’d been hiding beneath his steely skin. He’d worked with her, setting the poem to music, on the condition that she tell no one he’d written it. And she’d agreed, on the condition that he sing it to the woman he’d written it for.

“For I have dwelt among the rocks,

My city carved from rugged stone.  
So, in that burrow I will creep,  
And warm the soul which makes my home.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek and inclined her head at the fast but earnest burst of applause. And watched the two couples that, against the guard’s half-hearted warnings, chose to go for separate, intimate walks around the lakefront.

Taking their bedrolls with them.

“At least stay close,” the guard snapped, and turned to Selene, her tusks protruding under her frown. “Sleep in the wagon tonight. I’ll have enough trouble looking after this bunch after all that…bah!” She waved her hands in frustration, but shrugged. “It was a good song,” she said, the gruff in her voice taken down a notch or two, and hustled off into the woods.

Selene heaved her bedroll into the wagon and undressed, folding her gown carefully atop her sandals. She took advantage of the unexpected privacy to kneel and pray unclad, as Dibella preferred. Selene had been a child when Dibella had first come to her, her impossibly beautiful face taking the place of her own reflection in her mother’s garden pond. Since that day, praying to Dibella felt like talking to a beloved sister rather than a goddess—cozy and accepting, and at times, gently chiding if Selene needed it. But Selene knew Dibella, knew her moods, knew her heart—as well as any mortal could know a Divine. Which was why, when Selene began to hear strange prayers filtering through, Dibella didn’t bother to hide the flutter of insecurity, the twinge of doubt.

Dibella didn’t know.

Dibella had no idea why Selene was hearing prayers to Mara, to Talos. To Sithis, by the Nine!

Fear creeped up her spine. What was she doing, traveling Skyrim? Did she really think setting up two lovelorn couples would fix whatever was wrong? If Dibella didn’t understand, what chance did Selene have of figuring it out?

_Selene._

She heard her name in the voice from her mother’s garden, and wave of love washed over her. Nothing else—not enlightenment or knowledge, just love. Knowledge would have been nice, but love was what she needed, and the reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Torchbugs did hover around the fire, along with a few luna moths, their glimmerdust drifting on the breeze, scattering on the surface of the lake. Something in her abdomen fluttered. She pulled on a pair of leggings and a tunic and wondered if she’d have to work this hard to win over everyone she traveled with. Would the mercenary she’d hired to meet her in Helgen be as prickly? She folded her dress and set it beside her sandals. It would be a long, long journey across Skyrim, if that was the case. She lay back on her pillow and stared up at the stars. Joane’s face shimmered in her mind. What was she doing? Still sulking and missing Selene? Or was she drinking wine and laughing with her congregants, not giving Selene another thought. Selene hoped it was the latter.

It wasn’t until her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted toward sleep that she remembered Yngvar was coming to see her on Loredas night, to let her know if his song had warmed the sheltered heart of the woman who'd inspired it.

* * *

So this was the Gateway to the North.

Selene had stood up behind the driver’s box when they’d drawn close to Helgen. She’d balanced there, gripping the back of Bennar’s seat with a smile stretched across her face, waiting for a glimpse of the first real city on her adventure. She’d read about Helgen, heard it described in monumental terms—the picturesque mountain town where travelers from Cyrodiil rested and provisioned before continuing on to Whiterun or maybe even Solitude. Those travel guides didn’t mention the shabby chickens drinking muddy water out of holes in the road. Or soot-covered houses ringed around a courtyard filled with broken tools and too-thin children huddled around a cold firepit. By the time the market came into view along with a strong smell of spoiled mead and urine, Selene’s smile had faded.

She sat limply down. She’d pictured well-manicured streets and shops with bright picture windows. Cafes smelling of grilled meat and buttery pastry, and colorful caravans full of exotic goods. And, quite frankly? A gate, given the lofty nickname. The tumbledown guardhouse and splintered wood panels falling off their hinges barely qualified. But then again, Markarth’s gate was pristine, and it didn’t make the city any more inviting. She’d left it, hadn’t she?

Selene disembarked amid a flurry of hugs and tears and invitations to look her companions up in Ivarstead or Rorikstead or back in Markarth if her travels took her that way. She happily accepted, and waved, watching the carriage ramble off through town.

“’Scuse me.”

A man bumped against her bag. Selene stumbled and backed off the crowded cobblestone walkway to let him pass. The town might not have lived up to her expectations, but more people were out and about than she’d ever seen in Markarth. Maybe it really was the Gateway to the North. Maybe people were happy here.

The carriage had dropped her right in front of her destination. The Inn of the Minotaur’s Horn, the sign read, along with a crude woodcut of a Nord warrior felling one of the legendary beasts and drinking from the horn he’d ripped from its skull. Appetizing. The locals must have thought so, because the place was packed. Selene edged inside and navigated around the tables, keeping her bag from bumping into tankards or dragging through the long firepit in the center of the room.

“Good thing you’re checking in now,” the innkeeper yelled over the crowd, slapping her coins on a vegetable-strewn countertop and giving her a blackened key. “Wouldn’t have been able to hold your room for much longer.”

“What for?”

He motioned around the room with a tea towel and wiped the dubious-looking cloth against his forehead. “Look at it, eh? Never seen the room like this.”

Selene smiled. “Good to be busy.”

He nodded, but his face darkened. “Good for my pocketbook, but…”

Selene looked over her shoulder and listened. The buzz of the crowd wasn’t what she’d expected from an inn. She didn’t have much experience, but she’d imagined happy people enjoying their ale. Maybe singing a song. But there wasn’t a smile in the house, and conversation while loud, seemed heated. Strained. Selene spotted the bard, but she stood at the back of the room, looking out the window, her lute strapped across her back. “Is something wrong?”

“Depends on your point of view.” The innkeeper took up a knife and started chopping carrots on a block cutting board. His voice dropped to a choked snarl. “They’re executing Ulfric Stormcloak this afternoon.”

Anja and Gjukar had alternated telling stories of Ulfric Stormcloak and his heroics in the Great War, in the liberation of Markarth from the Forsworn. Selene had no opinion of the civil war raging through Skyrim, none at all, but she’d listened, in awe, of the man’s exploits. Such passion, such intensity, how could she not? “Who is? Executing him, I mean.”

“Damned Imperials, of course,” he spat. “Look lady, we’ve lived with this war for years. We get it—no money for food, no money to fix our streets or clothe our children. But we thought it would end with the Dominion gone. Gone from our country, gone from our lives. If that happened, it would all be worth it. But they’re here. The Dominion in Helgen. Here to witness, for the good of Skyrim.”

Selene listened to the venom in the innkeeper’s voice, and watched him—his furrowed brow, his mouth that drooped much like Gjukar’s had before he met Azhure. He chopped his vegetables like a man who needed to keep his hands occupied, and his mind. Like a man avoiding his own thoughts.

“I don’t know what side you’re on,” he said, with a pointed glance at her gold-trimmed cloak and tailored gown that told Selene he knew exactly what side she was on, “but this is a dark day for Skyrim.”

_I don’t know what side I’m on either._

But Selene kept her thoughts to herself. She picked up her bag and leaned over the counter. “I’m sorry,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. He paused his knife for a second and nodded before it flashed again, bits of carrot flying across the counter. Selene plucked an orange sliver from her cloak and slipped away to find her room.


	3. Waiting on the Brink

Selene sat at a table by the firepit with a mug of strong, sweet tea and watched the door. The mercenary she’d hired as an escort and guard was due any moment. Selene was ready to go. She had to get out of Helgen soon—the longer she waited, the more likely she was to board a carriage heading back to Markarth and forget her fool’s errand altogether.

Who was she kidding, anyway? She’d spent her years communing with her Goddess. She’d made love on velvet chaises and drunk wine from silver cups, while people in towns like Helgen lived in the shadow of war, in the shadow of death. All their lives. She’d spent last night singing love songs by a fire and playing matchmaker for a bunch of socially awkward Nords, while Ulfric Stormcloak had fallen, and the fate of Skyrim changed in the blink of an eye.

The wave of joy she’d been riding since Lake Ilinalta fizzled and vanished. How could she hope to understand a world she had no part of?

Selene’s heart jumped with the creaking of the door, but no luck. The whip-thin woman running straight for the bar didn’t fit Argis’s description. Selene slumped and sighed, tapping her fingers against her cup. Perhaps Joane was right about the mercenary, too. “You can’t trust mercenaries,” she’d cried, her face a picture of horror when Selene had mentioned hiring one. “They’ll leave you in the lurch if the money’s good. And if it’s really good, they’ll sell their own mothers.”

But surely Argis, one of the few city guards Selene trusted in the Temple with her Sisters, would know someone. Someone strong and respectable. Someone who would not, as a matter of principle, sell her mother. The door opened again and Selene straightened in her chair, her eyes widening at the sight of the armored woman filling the threshold. “Myka’s a giant of a woman,” Argis had said, holding a hand a few inches above his own considerable height. “She looks like she’s wearing a helmet made of red hair.” 

So far, so good—the woman had had to duck to get through the door, and her closely-cropped red hair resembled a halo in the backlight. “She’ll be carrying a sword with a ruby on the hilt. Wearing ebony armor. Shining,” Argis said, glancing dismissively at his own green-trimmed steel. “Nice.” 

Black armor. Check. Sword, though she couldn’t tell in the light if it had rubies on the hilt. But she waved her over anyway. “Myka?” Selene drew herself up to her full height of five feet and very little, and still had to crane her neck to look the mercenary in the face.

“That’s right,” Myka said, her eyes lighting on Selene’s amulet and the gold braid on her cloak. “Argis’s description was perfect.”

“I knew you immediately,” Selene agreed, and sat, motioning toward the chair at her side. “Sit with me?”

Myka’s smile faltered, and she hesitated for a second or two, but she sat. “So, what do I call you? Argis wasn’t sure.”

“Selene will do.” 

Myka drummed her fingers on the table and peered over the rim of Selene’s mug. “Do you, ah…maybe want to take a nap after your long trip?”

“No,” Selene said, puzzled. Was Myka trying to get rid of her already? “I’m fine. I got here mid-morning and rested already.”

Myka craned her neck to look out the window. She bit the inside of her cheek and templed her fingers on the table. “Well…”

Selene picked up her mug and stared at the dregs of her tea. Even after Argis put in a good word for her, Myka still didn’t really want the job. The money, maybe. But she definitely had a problem with Selene. The carriage back to Markarth was looking better all the time. Getting to Helgen on the day of Ulfric Stormcloak’s execution had been bad enough, but... Selene followed the arc of Myka’s gaze and frowned.

Ulfric’s execution.

She looked back to Myka, watched her peer over her shoulder again as if she were waiting for something. Realization and relief washed over Selene like a cool shower. Myka’s problem wasn’t with her. “You want to watch the execution.”

“Got me.” Myka sighed and chuckled. “Sorry about that, should have been more direct. I didn’t think it was something you’d like to see.”

“You’re not wrong. I’d hoped we could be on our way,” Selene said, and watched Myka’s face fall. What was it Myka found so compelling about watching a man die? Selene slid her mug across the table. “Why do you want to go?”

Myka shrugged. “Argis told me about your…quest,” she said, looking up with wet eyes. “You’ve lived in your ivory tower all your life. You want to come down for a while and see what the real world’s all about. You want to understand.”

Selene nodded. A flush warmed her chest, her neck. “I know it sounds silly, but—”

“No,” Myka said, and wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I’m not trying to make light of it. It’s admirable. If a little…well. Suicidal?”

Selene rolled her eyes and offered a weak smile. “I’ve heard that already.”

“Point is, I’ve been out in the world, and it’s a hard place. Harder because of people like Ulfric. I’ve lost too many friends…” Myka clenched and unclenched her fist and leaned forward, bracing her palms on her thighs. “I’m not looking to understand. Just to see him die.”

* * *

Selene locked her bag in her room, but kept her money purse buttoned up inside her cloak. Maybe there were a few cafes tucked away in Helgen. She might need the services of one after seeing…what they were about to see. She still didn’t want to see it. But she needed to. Her interrogation of Myka only proved how little she understood. She’d assumed anyone who wanted to see such a thing was in it for the violence. The spectacle. But Myka proved her wrong. And if the fate of Skyrim was turning, if this really was the day the Civil War was to end, Selene should see it done.

She walked beside Myka, aware of the strange looks they drew. Not only were they a mismatched pair, but Myka hadn’t kept her voice low when she’d said she wanted to see Ulfric die. People heard, and they were not happy. Not that they would touch them—she’d told Argis she wanted someone who would intimidate. She didn’t want bloodshed, she wanted to prevent it. Myka was someone people would think twice or maybe three or four times about approaching.

And given their current surroundings, that suited Selene just fine.

The streets were thronged with people. “They’re waiting for the wagon to come through the gates,” Myka explained, shielding her eyes from the sun as she scanned the crowd. “Imperial herald came through an hour ago, we can expect them soon.” 

Everyone lining the left side of the wide main street leading from the ramshackle gate stood quietly, their eyes somber, their jaws clenched, even the children. They watched the woods beyond the gate like they were expecting a battering ram rather than a wagon. Selene guessed that’s exactly what it felt like, if they revered Ulfric like Anja and Gjukar did. And the innkeeper.

“Come on,” Myka said, taking Selene’s arm and pulling her away from the gate. “We don’t need to see him paraded through the streets. They’re going to take him to the keep.”

The other side of the street couldn’t have been more different—it was like a festival, or a street fair. Men and women toasted with bottles of ale and wine. Children played in their mothers’ skirts if they were small, and fought with sticks for swords if they were older. Neither side acknowledged the other.

A great whoop went up behind them. The wagon must have been spotted. Myka broke into a run. “Let’s go!”

Selene ran, all the way to the keep’s cobblestone courtyard. She wasn’t worried about the wagon catching up to them—it would take its time rumbling down the street, playing to its audience. Selene knew the technique. But when the cheer went up, half the people lining the streets followed Myka’s lead, and soon the avenue snaking to the keep was a seething, pungeant column of bodies.

“Here,” Myka yelled, and stopped near a small tower, pulling Selene to her side and bearing down on anyone who attempted to push them back or block their view with a glare and a hand on the hilt of her sword, which was definitely studded with a ruby the color of Myka’s own hair.

The wagon lumbered slowly. Myka played with her sword while they waited, and Selene watched the crowd. Anger billowed through the masses on hot currents, most of them blowing toward the wagon, but not a small amount aimed toward a shabby sort-of balcony on top of the keep. A handful of people stood above the yard, dressed in maroon and gray Imperial armor, including a silver-haired man whose cuirass was shinier than the rest—gold rather than steel.

“Who’s that?”

Myka looked where Selene pointed. “General Tullius. Commander of the Skyrim Legion. He might be happier about all this than I am,” she said, suddenly stiffening at Selene’s side. “And that, if I’m not mistaken, is Elenwen.”

Selene felt the surge in anger from the people of Helgen before she saw the golden mer step from behind General Tullius, leaning over the balcony wall to smile over the crowd. She knew who Elenwen was. She’d come to Markarth once to meet with Ondolemar, the Dominion adviser to Jarl Igmund. Selene had avoided introductions. “People hate her,” Selene said, nearly withering under the loathing that seemed to rise from the dirt beneath their feet, shifting the currents of anger and directing them all toward the balcony. She looked up at Myka. “You hate her.”

Myka gave a clipped nod, her lip curling.

Selene looked toward the wagon, finally coming into view of the keep. She stood on her tiptoes. A priest of Arkay, and half a dozen blond men crowded the passenger box. One of the men wore a thick gag over his mouth.

_Ulfric can Shout like ancient Nords. He didn’t just kill King Torygg, he blew him apart with his voice._

Selene hadn’t believed Anja’s story, but it looked like General Tullius did. He lived in Solitude, didn’t he? Maybe he saw it. Maybe…it was all true. “Then, why…if everyone hates her, and she wants Ulfric dead, why is killing Ulfric a good thing?”

Myka spat on the ground. “I’m betting she doesn’t want Ulfric dead. There’s just no good reason to stop the execution if she wants to hold the party line—that the Dominion wants what’s best for the Empire. No, he’s better alive, for her. Stirring up rebellion, getting our soldiers killed. Perfect time for the Dominion to invade, don’t you think?”

There was sense in what Myka said. But Selene’s expertise lay in passion. Civil war might not be good for Skyrim, but a leader who can inspire such loyalty…perhaps he was worth keeping alive? Luckily, she didn’t have to ponder politics any longer—the wagon had stopped near a footstool-sized block of wood in front of the door of the keep. Surrounded by already-bloodied straw, there could be little doubt as to its purpose.

Her stomach felt heavy and unsettled, like she’d bolted an entire bottle of brandy on top of a pot full of venison stew. But her discomfort was nothing to what the men in the cart had to feel. Ulfric sat stiff and silent, but his companions were more emotional. Tears welled in their eyes as they surrounded Ulfric, speaking in tones Selene couldn’t hear. Were they comforting him? Asking for help? Asking forgiveness? Selene almost envied the priest of Arkay his proximity, if not his duty, and made a mental note to talk to him after…after it was all over. He would understand what these men felt as few others would.

The Imperial guards on the ground led the prisoners, their hands tied behind their backs, to form a line in front of the block. A man dressed in black, a longsword at his side, stepped from the keep and took his place on the bloodied straw.

“I’m sorry, Ulfric,” one of the prisoners said, loud enough for people standing close to hear.

“Forgive us,” another said, tears streaming down his dirty face.

Ulfric stood stock still, staring up at Tullius. He didn’t acknowledge his men at all. Selene frowned—the man had less personality than one of the Dwemer automatons in Understone Keep. How did he inspire such passion without showing any himself? It wasn’t an answer Selene would discover any time soon. Two guards flanked Ulfric and led him to the block.

“Ulfric Stormcloak!” General Tullius called from the balcony, his hands braced on the ledge, his body edging Elenwen to the side. “Some in Skyrim, some even here in Helgen, call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t murder his king.”

Murmurs rose around Selene. “It wasn’t murder,” someone behind her argued. “It was the Nord way, with the truest Nord weapon we have.”

“No one else will stand against the Dominion,” another fearful voice whispered.

And another, full of loud confidence, “good riddance. Anyone who’s been to Windhelm’s seen the man has no business running a city, let alone Skyrim itself.”

General Tullius raised his hands, and the murmurs stopped. “Stormcloak soldiers, listen to me. You’re loyal to Ulfric, that is not questioned. But I give you this one chance—step aside now. Skyrim needs every fighting man and woman to meet future threats, and I do not want to wield the sword that cuts you down. Step aside and join the Legion and your lives will be spared.”

Silence. Selene waited, but no one stepped forward. She hadn’t expected they would.

“So be it,” Tullius said, sounding disappointed but resigned. “Watch your commander die, and follow him to the block.”

The man who’d begged Ulfric to forgive him stepped forward, breaking free of his guard. “We follow him to Sovngarde!” he shouted, before stumbling under a blow from the hilt of the guard’s sword.

Still, Ulfric gave no sign he heard.

The twin guards shoved Ulfric against the block and forced him to his knees. He hit the ground with a boom that knocked Selene off her feet, slamming her into Myka’s side. Selene tried to right herself, stumbling over the hem of her cloak. She felt dizzy. Her stomach roiled. Ulfric’s body made that sound? That couldn’t be right. “What was that?” Selene looked to Myka for an answer, but Myka wasn’t looking at Ulfric. Instead, she stared, open-mouthed, at the top of the tower behind the balcony. Selene followed her gaze. A beast perched on the tower, its claws clutching at the stones of the keep, knocking them to the ground with thuds and tremors no one seemed to notice. Instead, their eyes followed shining black wings and a spiked tail that hovered, sweeping currents of hot air over the yard.

 _Dragon_.

Selene had seen pictures in storybooks, everyone had. And she knew the beasts had lived hundreds of years ago. But to see one, in Helgen, to feel the heat of its breath and smell the fire seething from its body…impossible. She took a step backward. Someone behind her screamed. It broke the spell, and as one, the crowd ran from the keep. Myka grabbed her arm just as the dragon roared. Selene’s feet flew out from under her again, and she tumbled to the ground. Her head pounded, her vision blurred.

“Myka!” Selene shouted, but her voice sounded like a whisper to her ringing ears. She clambered to her feet and watched the dragon lift off the tower amid a hail of arrows bouncing off its skin like toffee off a stone. They had to get away. Selene whirled on her heels, scanning the yard. Black armor shone amid stone and leather. Selene limped to where she lay and grasped her hand and pulled, helping the warrior to stand. “Are you alright?

Myka nodded and swiped a trickle of blood from her temple. The dragon wheeled out over the town and sucked in a hissing breath. Selene could guess what came next. Judging by the screams, so could everyone else. Only Myka stayed calm. She grabbed Selene’s shoulders and turned her away from the dragon. “Get to the keep,” she rasped, and pushed Selene toward the sturdy stone building, just as the dragon roared again, and the world went mad.

Fire rained down around her. Fire and burning rock that crashed into houses, streets, shops. Selene looked for Myka, but saw nothing but smoke and flying metal rods and shards of glass. She did run, then, in a thick, hazy silence that filled her ears like jelly, past walls erupting in waves of mortar and jagged rocks.

_Myka said get to the keep._

Selene tried to obey, but everywhere she turned, her path was blocked. She turned down a street to the right to avoid a cast iron kettle flying toward her head. To the left, after a big, furry body slammed down in front of her, exploding in a mess of flesh and blood. She wiped something wet from her face, stinking and hot, felt it ooze down the neck of her dress.

_Get to the keep._

A high-pitched cry bubbled up from her chest. Could Dibella see her now?

_The keep._

Did She expect her Sibyl to survive?

The air cleared and Selene stopped and blinked away dust and soot. There it was—the keep. She took a step toward it. Another roar exploded behind her. The force of it threw her across the yard, tumbling over burning cobbles, the remains of a city flaying her skin until she slammed into a stone wall. She lay still, on her back, gulping down breath after ragged breath. She opened her eyes. That shrill cry tore from her chest again—the dragon was there, hovering above her. So close she could feel its breath, see each individual scale that made up its obsidian skin. It made a guttural sound deep in its throat and stared, its fiery eyes boring into her own.

Selene froze and waited for rocks and fire to tear her apart. She pictured Dibella in her mind, and held on tight. But the dragon never struck. Instead, as Selene lay gasping on the broken cobblestones, something unfurled deep within her, and grew. A pressure in her gut, building and heating, until she thought her body would explode in a rain of blood and bone and whatever filth congealed over her face, her neck. She gagged. Was this how it felt to die? Was she being reborn, through fire and blood? Her head spun and she saw red, and then—it broke free. Whatever it was that had been bound inside her broke free and blazed through her gut, past the back of her throat and—

“Here! Come here!”

Selene shook herself and swallowed her scream and the madness she knew was about to take her. She rolled her head toward the voice. A sooty hand appeared in the door of the keep, its fingers curved, beckoning.

The dragon parted its jaws. Selene squinted up, watching dust and debris and the breath of a city spiral up from the ground and disappear past the dragon’s teeth. Selene gasped, but the dragon took the air from her own lungs, whisking it up to join the breath in his own.

Helgen lay hushed and burning around her, waiting for its breath to be returned in a hail of molten rock.

_The keep._

Gritting her teeth through the pain in her back, her hips, she rolled over and shoved with both hands, crying out as she forced herself to her feet. The hand still beckoned and she limped toward it, falling through the door and letting whatever waited within pull her inside.


	4. Disguises We Wear

Selene stumbled gratefully into the stand of birches and willows and looked for a place to sleep. There weren’t many options that didn’t involve hacking at thorns or rolling away deadwood. She didn’t have the strength for that. Or the tools. A dark spot under a willow tree turned out to be a bed of moss. That would do.

“Not so fast,” Ulfric said, catching her arm in his bear-like grasp. “You’re going to keep watch with me.”

She stared stupidly up at him. “What?”

“My men carried you out of Helgen while you slept. Carried you over a day, in fact. Think it’s fair to say you’ve already had your rest.”

Selene didn’t remember any of that, if it was even true. She’d awakened to grass tickling her neck and cheek early that morning, while it was still dark. She hadn’t liked it any better than she had her last morning in Markarth. Even worse, she’d awakened from one nightmare to another—a soot-scented hand over her mouth and a crowd of rough-looking men staring down at her.

One of them she’d recognized, even without the gag.

“You’re safe. Don’t scream,” Ulfric Stormcloak had reassured and warned at the same time before removing his hand and pulling her to her feet.

Selene’s eyes scanned the starless skies. “The dragon?”

Ulfric shook his head. “Haven’t seen it again. But we have to keep moving. Don’t worry,” he’d said, again. “You’re safe.”

Was she safe? Selene had met his icy blue gaze, holding it, sifting through his desires, the emotions of the man behind the stories—was he a villain, guilty of killing his king in cold blood? Of sending Myka’s friends to their deaths? Or was he a hero, a rebel, and the hope of a nation? Disappointingly, she’d detected nothing from Ulfric or his men, good or bad. She blamed it on Helgen. She couldn’t hope to handle the emotions of others when her own were in such turmoil. But Selene’s options hadn’t lain thick on the ground. She’d lost her gold, and if another dragon swooped down, she had no way of defending herself. So she’d let Ulfric and his soldiers guide her from the thicket where they’d slept to a slightly less dense patch of wood.

And they’d walked.

And walked. And walked, from sunup to well after sundown, through icy wind and a chill mist that seemed to cling to their ankles, only stopping to hand around bits of cold food or berries they’d foraged as they’d cleared the path through whatever forest they traveled. Selene had no idea where they were, and neither Ulfric nor his soldiers would pause to answer her questions. She’d offered to heal any cuts and bruises, but even that was met with a steely gaze and a dismissive wave. But, if Selene wasn’t to be allowed to sleep, she might as well try to get a little information out of Ulfric while they were alone. He led her by the arm around the still, sleeping forms of his men to a small clearing. “If I haven’t said this already…thank you, you know, for saving my life,” she said and smiled, hoping to get on his good side, if he had one.

Ulfric nodded and let go of her arm. He stood with his back to a broad cedar, his arms crossed over his chest.

Selene waited. Ulfric didn’t say a word. She tried again. “I think I’m missing a bit of time, though. How did I get here? And,” she said, motioning blindly into the darkness, “where are we going?”

More silence. Then, Ulfric cleared his throat. “I’ll answer that for you, and then you’re going to answer a few questions for me.”

“Of course,” Selene agreed. She’d have talked all day if he’d given her a chance. It might have made their tedious walk a little more tolerable.

“You fainted coming into the keep. We carried you out through a tunnel leading under the mountains. And carried you until you woke, early this morning. As for where we’re bound—Windhelm.”

Selene frowned. Somewhere between Helgen and Windhelm. It was likely all she was going to get out of Ulfric, given his apparent distaste for conversation. And as far as fates went, it wasn’t the worst. In Windhelm, at least, she could find a courier to send a message to the temple. And a carriage to ferry her back. Clearly, her quest had come to an end.

“Again, thank you. I can’t imagine where I’d be if you hadn’t found me.”

“I can’t either,” Ulfric said with a strange little half smile, taking a drink from a leather skin and passing it her way. “So, lass…who are you?”

Selene drank, the mead a little gamey-tasting but still sweet. She felt a rush of strength, and the ache in her muscles didn’t seem quite so bad. She stood a little straighter, though she wasn’t sure what to tell him. How would he and his soldiers treat a servant of Dibella? She’d known enough soldiers to understand that although they performed heroic deeds on the battlefield, the majority of them were mere humans off it. And her Sisters had run across too many mere humans who felt entitled to Dibella’s comforts, some enough to resort to violence when they weren’t offered on demand. But, Ulfric’s men had saved her life. Selene decided to tell the truth. “My name is Selene. I’m—well, I was, anyway—Sibyl of Dibella.”

Ulfric’s face was impassive. “I thought it must be something like that,” he said conversationally, as though Selene had told him she was a baker or maybe an accountant, rather than the oracle of a Divine. He took another drink. “Do you remember anything? From Helgen?”

Did she remember the dragon? The fear, the destruction? Only too well. She’d been caught in a nightmare that morning, before she’d awakened to Ulfric’s hand over her mouth. Dreaming of death and blood. Of losing Myka in a shower of fire and rock.

 _Myka_.

Had Myka survived after she’d pushed Selene toward the keep? Selene swallowed the lump in her throat, determined to hold out hope.

“Most of it,” she said, shivering. “The dragon, fire and rocks falling from the sky. After that, it gets a little fuzzy.”

“We ran to the keep and cut our bonds after the beast took off and everyone scattered,” Ulfric said with a casual shrug. “I knew about the tunnels. We were heading there when I saw something…something I didn’t believe, not at first—a woman in a white dress, running through fire. Fire that didn’t touch her. Rocks that smashed everything in her path, but missed her completely.”

Selene frowned. That’s not what she remembered at all. White dress, true enough. But the fire hadn’t missed her. It couldn’t have. She’d seen the blood, she’d felt the rips in her skin, the bruises. She’d lain there under the dragon’s gaze and almost wished for death, the pain had been so great. And Ulfric had stood in the keep and watched it all happen?

“I wondered, then, if you’d been touched by the Divines. And when that dragon blew you right to me, well,” he said, motioning toward her with his palms outstretched, “I had to find out.”

“That was your hand? You pulled me into the keep?”

Ulfric nodded. “When you wouldn’t wake on the way through the tunnels, we considered leaving you behind.”

Selene tried to conceal her shock, but Ulfric smiled his little half smile again. “Dead weight slows down an army. A cruel fact of life.”

He’d picked up a few more loyal retainers since Helgen, but eleven men didn’t make an army, last time Selene looked. But she wasn’t about to argue that point. “So why carry me all that way? Why take that chance?”

He shrugged. “Someone blessed by the Divines can be useful.”

Blessed by the Divines. Had Dibella protected Selene? The thought comforted her, cold comfort though it was. She was grateful, grateful to have lived, to have the chance to reclaim her old life. But she couldn’t silence the small voice inside her that demanded to know why. Why Myka wasn’t worth protecting, too. Or why the dragon had even attacked at all. 

“I couldn’t be sure which Divine. But when you woke from your little sleep spanking clean, with your scrapes and bruises completely healed, and in a gown fit for a goddess, Dibella moved to number one on my list.”

Selene blushed, glancing down at her gown. The sleeveless silk began a perfect shade of cream at the shoulder, and darkened in blushing gradients until it ended in a deep plum at the hemline, just below her knees. She’d assumed someone must have cleaned her off and dressed her—naïve assumption, she knew now, given the Stormcloaks’ own dirty, lank hair and mismatched armor they’d undoubtedly picked up in the keep to cover their prisoners’ rags.

Ulfric huffed, and gestured toward the bare curls piled on top of her head, the delicate sandals on her feet. “Aren’t you cold, lass?” His armor was trimmed in fur, and he still looked chilled to the bone. It was cold in the forest, so close to the mountain. No snow, not yet, but Selene could see her breath hanging in front of her face in the dim moonlight.

“I am, a little,” she said, and pulled her matching plum velvet cloak around her bare shoulders. “I suppose if Dibella wants to dress me like this, She makes it so it’s not too uncomfortable.”

Ulfric huffed. “Makes you wonder what else She can do.”

Something rustled in the underbrush not too far away; Ulfric crouched and slipped behind the cedar. Selene held her breath and wondered if her heartbeat was as loud to whatever was out there in the woods as it was in her head. Could it be a saber cat?

Gjukar’s missing eye and ropy scars hovered behind her vision. Selene cringed. She’d been so naïve, to imagine she could survive Skyrim’s wilds, even with Myka to help her.

 _Stupid_.

A branch cracked, and Ulfric stepped back into the clearing. “Just a fox,” he said, and resumed his place against the cedar.

Just a fox. Selene breathed in and out, all the way down to her belly, rhythmic and deep, until her heartbeat slowed. She wiped a tear from her eye. She couldn’t even handle a damned fox.

_So, so stupid._

They stood in awkward silence after that, until the moons rose high over the trees. Ulfric whistled, then, and his men rose from the grass like ghosts from their graves. They passed around a few slices of bacon and bread they’d taken from a farm earlier that evening, and started walking without complaint. And walked, again, in silence, until the sun came up, glaring off the snowy mountain, always to their left. Ulfric hadn’t lied about heading toward Windhelm, at least—

Selene stopped short, and, suddenly dizzy, steadied herself with a hand on a moss-covered boulder. She expected Ulfric to lie. _At least,_ she’d thought. _Ulfric hadn’t lied about heading toward Windhelm, **at least** …_

The realization was a surprise. Ulfric had given her no reason to be suspicious, had he? There was no reason to believe things hadn’t unfolded the way he described. She’d seen the hand reaching out from the keep, and he’d been in the keep. She’d been unconscious, so his men had carried her. His story made sense.

Selene traced a spiral in the soft moss and frowned. But there lay the trouble, didn’t it? The story made sense. It made sense to stay in the keep and stay away from the dragon. To stay alive. But Ulfric wanted to be king. For love of his people, for love of Skyrim, according to Anja and Gjukar. Such a man would try to save his people, not stand in safety and watch them burn.

As he’d watched her, before deciding it was to his benefit to reach out his hand.

_Someone blessed by the Divines can be useful._

Selene forced her feet to start moving again, and wondered what use he’d thought of for her.

* * *

Ulfric called for a break after the sun rose, but not long enough to really rest. And the next time he called them to a longer halt, just before dusk, he forced Selene to stand watch with him again. Selene was surprised to find herself relieved. She was tired, yes. Bone-tired. The kind of exhaustion that blurred reality, that made it easy for nightmares to creep behind the barrier of her mind. Selene wanted no part of the last nightmare she’d awakened from. So she stumbled behind him to the clearing he’d chosen and searched her scattered brain for something to say. She couldn’t stand for hours in silence again without falling asleep.

“Did you really kill King Torygg?” Selene’s heart skipped. Dangerous question, she knew. Try as she might, she could think of nothing else but Helgen, where Myka might still lay in the wreckage. Where the sad innkeeper and families lining the streets— _children playing in their mothers’ skirts, children fighting with sticks for swords, children huddled around a cold firepit_ —lay burned and buried under ash and rock. And where Ulfric stood by and watched it happen. The one thing about Helgen that didn’t promise nightmares was General Tullius’s speech about heroes not killing their kings. So she’d kept it in the forefront of her mind all day.

Ulfric stared at her like she was a bug on a wall. Selene wished she could take the question back. She felt herself trying to disappear, to sink into the towering cedar at her back, or else let the ground swallow her whole. “I…I’m sorry,” she stammered. “That was rude. You don’t have to answer.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, leaning back against an unusually wide birch and sliding his boot up the trunk. 

Anger seethed, suddenly, in Selene’s gut. Two days of walking in silence, nonstop with no sleep and few answers all piled on top of her unshed tears and buried grief. And all of that piled on top of her growing distaste—for Ulfric’s actions at Helgen, for his manners, for the way he treated everyone around him with barely-concealed contempt. And for the way he talked about her like she was some sort of sheathed weapon.

_Someone blessed by the Divines can be useful._

Ulfric didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t let on. Her initial assessment hadn’t changed—he still had the personality of a statue. She couldn’t imagine how he inspired the loyalty of his soldiers. He didn’t speak to them, didn’t encourage them, not that she saw, anyway. She assumed his childish response would be the end of it, but to her surprise, he spoke again.

“I did kill Torygg,” he said, his voice steady, a low and quiet rumble. “He was a weak king, and if the Dominion brought their armies, I knew he’d do nothing to stop it.”

“I heard you used your voice to kill him.” Selene mirrored Ulfric’s pose—her arms crossed over her chest and her chin lifted, just on the edge of arrogance. 

Ulfric took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You ask a lot of questions for the Sibyl of Dibella. I have a few—what are you doing outside the temple? And, why Helgen? I can’t imagine Dibella sent you to witness my demise.”

“I’m not…I’m not sure I’m Sibyl anymore.” The sudden change of topic rang a little bell of alarm inside her head. But Selene was sure she’d already told Ulfric she was no longer Sibyl. Hadn’t she? She yawned. “Dibella might have called another, I don’t know. I sort of quit.”

“You what?” Ulfric’s eyes widened. The new emotion—surprise, Selene guessed, since she couldn’t feel it herself—made him look like a different person. His gaze snapped down to Selene’s feet and back to her face. “It doesn’t look like Dibella’s quit you, though. That’s a nice new dress.”

When the sun had come up that morning, Selene had felt something against her skin. Like a lover’s touch, or the whisper of warm air from a brazier. She’d looked down to find herself dressed in a gown even more beautiful than yesterday’s cream and plum silk. The shifting blue and green of a kingfisher’s plumage, its crushed velvet bodice was trimmed with silver ribbon that caught beneath her breasts and flowed gracefully to her knees. Velvet might suit the cold forest a little better, but if Dibella wanted to dress her like a doll, fur might make more sense. Even fur-lined armor. But as she’d already observed, Dibella was not the goddess of logic.

Ulfric was waiting for her answer. Had he answered her question? About the voice? Selene was so tired, she couldn’t remember. But as long as she kept talking, she wouldn’t fall asleep, she wouldn’t be alone in the dark, alone with her nightmares. So she’d talked. Everything she’d done, and the why of it, tumbled from her mouth. By the time she finished describing the trip from Markarth, the friends she’d made along the way, meeting Myka in Helgen, the twilight had thickened to a dark misty gray. And Ulfric hadn’t interrupted, not once.

“But that’s over and done now,” Selene said, a massive yawn nearly splitting her head in two. “I think I’ve proven myself unfit for the task.”

Ulfric laughed. A low rumbling laugh that seemed to vibrate the ground between them. “That dragon ruined a lot of plans.”

“Seems to have done alright by you,” she said, and gasped, suddenly fully awake.

_Stupid. Reckless._

Ulfric tilted his head to one side, watching her like a predator might watch its prey. Was this how Gjukar had felt when he’d faced down a saber cat? Selene tried to smile—maybe she could turn what could easily be construed as an accusation into a dumb joke. He knew she was tired, it might work. “Well, it did, didn’t it? You still have your head.”

Ulfric tipped his head back, looking straight up into the tree. He took in a great breath, and said…something. Something soft, that sounded like _boo_ to Selene’s ears. The sound of it sent shivers down her spine and a memory—some scrap of a book she’d read or a story she’d heard—shimmered in her mind. A mountaintop and dragons wheeling around it, dragons of every color, sun glinting off their wings. The wind shifting with the force of their breath. But she didn’t have time to ponder it. The limbs over Ulfric’s head groaned and cracked. Twigs and small branches rustled and fell around him like rain, along with sheets of gold and red leaves.

When the debris settled, he shook out his hair and clothes and stood with his arms crossed over his chest like nothing had happened at all. “You’ll hear lots of stories about me, Sibyl,” he said, an edge to his voice that set the alarm bells in Selene’s head clanging again. “But this much is true—I challenged Torygg for the crown of Skyrim while he slouched in his golden throne. I gave him the first move—a gift. He refused to take it.” Ulfric pulled a plain, steel dagger from a belt buckled across his chest, turning it over in his fist. “He refused to lift that gaudy, useless weapon he kept at his side. So yes, I shouted him down. And finished him.”

Selene stood, breathless. Her heart raced. He’d stripped every leaf from that tree with nothing but a word. 

“How?” She whispered.

Ulfric closed the distance between them before Selene could blink. She pressed against the rough bark at her back, her eyes moving from Ulfric’s mouth to the dagger he held against her chest. “There it is,” he purred, his voice measured and steady. He nodded as he spoke, the scruff of his beard scratching her cheek. The musty scent of his fur-lined armor stung her nostrils. “There’s the fear in those lovely green eyes. And a little respect. You’re shaking from that gaudy, useless gown to your gaudy, useless sandals, Selene.”

Ulfric was right—she was shaking. Shaking so violently, she felt the blade cut into the skin just below her collarbone.

“That’s the power of a Nord embracing his heritage,” he said, sliding the tip of the dagger down to the deep vee of her neckline, “and that, Selene, was only a whisper.” Selene closed her eyes and waited to feel the blade plunge into her chest or slice at her neck. Instead, rough skin brushed her temple. She flinched. Her eyes flew open. The hand that held the dagger hovered just above her hairline. With his thumb, Ulfric pushed a curl back from her temple, tucking it gently behind her ear. He slid the dagger back into its sheath. “Your hair looks like polished copper.”

Selene exhaled, and dragged breath back into her lungs. Ulfric pulled his meadskin out of the pouch in his cloak and offered it, his eyes glassy in the rising moonlight. “Go ahead,” he said. “Take a drink. You look like you need it.”

She did, barely feeling the strong, honey wine stream down her throat. She handed the skin back to Ulfric. He turned his back to her, and walked until she could no longer see in him the darkness. A wolf howled in the distance, but no one stirred. And until the moons rose high in the sky, Selene stood against the cedar and didn’t dare move, not even to wipe the trickle of blood from her chest or the tears from her face. She barely even breathed.

Finally, Ulfric stepped from the shadows. He whistled to wake his men. His cloak whispered against her arm as he stopped at her side. “You may sleep, Selene, next time we rest.”


	5. Comfort and Jazbay

Twelve days. Selene counted twelve days since Ulfric held a dagger to her neck and pinned her against a tree. Twelve days since he’d whispered into her ear the tale of how he’d killed a man with a word, and then complimented her hair.

Twelve days that felt like forever, an eternity trudging through silent midnight forests filled with stalking predators, of listening for Ulfric’s steps behind her, and waiting for his façade to crack again.

Twelve days of telling herself the one thing keeping her from giving into fear: if Ulfric wanted her dead, she’d be dead. 

The morning after it happened, she’d walked into the woods to pray and faced a choice—stay with a man who chilled her blood, or run into the forest and take her chances. They were traveling east, were they not? Ivarstead lay east. Azhure had told her about it, her hometown, even pointed it out on the map Selene left in her bag, at the inn in Helgen. Selene wondered if her traveling companions knew about Helgen, if news had traveled as far as Ivarstead. Or back to Markarth.

A deeper chill had frozen her to the spot as she’d stood there, trembling in the forest. They’d not seen the dragon again, nor had any news. Had Helgen been the first city it attacked? Selene couldn’t imagine it would be the last. Did Ivarstead still stand? Did Markarth? Did any city stand a chance against that dragon? 

In the end, the choice was easier than it seemed. There was no way she’d make it to Ivarstead on her own. Ulfric might be terrifying and unstable, but he hadn’t killed her, and apart from the small mark on her collarbone, hadn’t hurt her at all. He’d had every opportunity, alone with her in the wilderness. Who’d turn him in for murder, his own soldiers? Soldiers so loyal they’d given up their very lives for him at Helgen?

As well, she was no threat to Ulfric. He’d said so himself—she had no weapons, just an ever-changing array of gaudy, useless gowns. No, Ulfric’s motives were nefarious, of that Selene had no doubt, but he did want her to reach Windhelm alive. The same couldn’t be said for saber cats or bears. Or wolves, or some as yet unseen creature the Stormcloaks referred to as “frostbites.”

So, for twelve days, Selene had begged time away during rest stops. For twelve days she’d prayed, begging Dibella for help, and for twelve days she’d risen with no more clarity than before she’d knelt.

Selene expected today to be no different, but time away from the sullen Stormcloaks was worth a few unanswered prayers. She stepped carefully over a pile of red and gold leaves at the edge of the clearing, looking to avoid triggering an old bear trap or startling a sleeping fox. One of the men stepped in the former a day or two ago—the trap’s teeth had taken a chunk out of his boot. Selene’s sandals—soft leather and gold chain, today—wouldn’t fare as well.

A glow behind a willowy birch caught her eye. Her stomach fluttered, and she quickened her step, pushing vines out of her way for a closer look. It was a shrine—a simple shrine, only a narrow plinth strewn with lilies, but Dibella’s presence shone all around it, so it seemed to Selene as grand as the temple in Markarth. Selene smiled, and wondered if the shrine was a permanent fixture in this remote forest in the middle of nowhere, or if it had materialized just for her.

She stepped up to the plinth and crushed a petal between her thumb and forefinger, its softness soothing to her skin, its scent drifting up to turn her head. This, Dibella could do—intoxicating scents, trinkets, pretty gowns and shoes. Today’s confection had been an unwelcome surprise—blush-colored lace, its loose weave nearly transparent, layered over a gauzy column of silk. With no accompanying cloak to pull around her shoulders, it left nothing to the imagination, and provoked more glowers than usual from the silent Stormcloaks.

Ulfric had laughed, though, at the dress and the red blush warming her face. “At least you won’t have to disrobe for your prayers,” he’d said, laughing again at his own joke.

The first time she’d asked for privacy to pray, Ulfric had waved away her explanations. “I’m well aware of the customs of your order,” he’d said. “Worship with no worries. My men will guard your safety, but they’d sooner chop off their hands than take something belonging to the Divines. And if they don’t, I will.”

Selene had her doubts, given Ulfric’s actions toward her, but his word had proven true—not a single man crept close enough to touch her. It was odd. Not that she wanted their attention, but the fact that among eleven grown men, there wasn’t one who’d given her an interested glance, who’d looked at her the way a heterosexual man looks at a desirable woman, even in the midst of danger. Fleeing the Empire and an ravening dragon would have a dampening effect, but desire was desire. Of course, it was possible that all eleven enjoyed the company of men.

Possible. But…probable?

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Selene quickly disrobed and knelt on the mossy ground, accepting the strange boon for the moment, whatever its root. Dibella seemed in the mood to talk, and Selene needed…something. 

She’d thought it was answers. She’d stepped up to the shrine with a plan—throw herself on Dibella’s mercy and beg. Beg for assistance, beg for information. Promise anything, if only she could go home. But now that she was here, and Dibella so close, all Selene could think of was comfort. Taking deep breaths, she forced her fear and panic and demands to recede.

The warmth of two soft arms enveloped her, and she leaned into it, and wasn’t at all surprised to find herself supported, though she could see nothing holding her up. Over the past two weeks, Selene had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be touched.

_You have questions, my love._

Selene tried to speak, to ask the first question that popped into her head—why the dragon had attacked—but her throat swelled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, a burning tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.

_You’ve never held back from me, before. Even as an awestruck child. Perhaps, that’s why I was so drawn to you. Ask your questions, love._

Selene concentrated on the cool moss under her knees, the softness of the lily between her fingers, the warmth of the arms wrapped around her, and tried again, this time keeping to a safer topic. “What am I supposed to do now?”

_Is that really what you want to know?_

“I just want to get back home. This has all gone so…terribly wrong,” Selene said, panic creeping into her voice. “The…the dragon. Ulfric. And I can’t—”

The hint of panic flowed quickly, and at once, the floodgates opened. Memories crowded her brain—Myka, buried under blood and dirt; mothers, their mouths frozen in silent screams, their bodies curved around children, and fire overtaking them all.

Selene slammed the gates shut again, and shivered. Her voice cracked. “I can’t.” Dibella waited in patient silence, but Selene shook her head and furiously swiped at her tears. “I can’t. Not yet.”

_Shh…I understand, love. If you’re not ready to talk, just listen. I know your heart like you know mine. And when you find yourself ready, you will be able to find me if you need me._

If she needed her. Selene frowned. “I do need you, always.”

_The time will come when you won’t have the luxury of a Divine at your side, one who knows your heart. But for now, there are things you need to know, even if you can’t bear to ask. The dragon…the dragon is something we did not foresee. And something we can’t fight._

Selene flinched. If the Divines couldn’t fight that monster, it was hopeless. How were mere mortals supposed to contend with a dragon?

_Mere mortals have weapons we lack, love._

“What weapons do we have that can defeat a dragon? I’ve never seen one. I know I have none.”

_Is that so?_

“You give me dresses, not swords,” Selene said, an edge creeping into her voice. “Not that a sword would do a damn bit of good.”

Dibella laughed, soft and low. _There’s my love. You’ve not quite given up, have you? You wouldn’t have been chosen as my Sibyl if you were defenseless. But listen: you are not just my Sibyl any longer. You will find yourself moving away from me, away from my sphere and toward others—_

“No—“

_Yes. This is not your doing, love. Not yours, not anyone’s. But it means I won’t be able to help you as much as I’d like. I don’t have the power._

Selene’s eyes widened. “How do you not have the power? You’re a Goddess.”

_Of love and beauty. Art. Passion. Not war or nature or…logic._

Selene smiled at Dibella’s sigh. “So, you give me dresses. Gaudy, useless dresses.”

Selene felt Dibella nod, felt the graceful toss of her head, felt her soft tresses brush against Selene’s shoulder.

_Don’t listen to Ulfric. He has no taste—never has. They’re not gaudy. And they’re certainly not useless. Weapons, Selene, come in all guises. Don’t be afraid to use them._

Selene frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. Her delicate white gown had helped no one in Helgen. “I want to help, I do. But I don’t see how I can.”

_Remember back in your mother’s garden? I asked you to show me the important things in your life. You showed me the picture you’d drawn for your father. You introduced me to a frog you’d healed with your fledgling magic. And you told me you wanted me to have your warmest—_

“Pink wool socks,” Selene finished, her voice blending with Dibella’s in her head. “But those aren’t weapons.”

_Aren’t they?_

Selene imagined herself showing a beautifully finished canvas to a dragon, and the dragon smashing it—and her—to bits. She rolled her eyes.

_I’m not being cryptic, Selene. I’m telling you what I can. But like I said, you’re moving away from my sphere, my power. That dragon? That’s a story for others to tell, and they will, in time. All I can say is this—seek inspiration and knowledge in the mysteries of love. All love, in all its forms. Beauty and passion will be as much help as fire and steel in the fight ahead. Maybe more._

Selene snorted. “Fighting? You know I can’t fight. Joane’s right—my place is in Markarth. I’ll just get more people killed if I stay out here.” Like Myka. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been in Helgen without Selene’s foolhardy scheme. 

_I think you know that’s not true. And you were right. You showed wisdom. Doesn’t that make you feel good? Selene, you are needed here, now. Not locked inside a temple._

She didn’t want wisdom, not if moving from Dibella’s embrace was the price.

_Your choices are your own, of course, as they were in your mother’s garden. You can go back to Markarth. But I’m afraid your future will find you wherever you go. And I can’t put you where you should be. But I can show you the way_.

Selene didn’t respond. She couldn’t fight—not Ulfric, and most definitely not a dragon. But Windhelm was a long way off, probably. She didn’t have to make a decision just yet. If Dibella thought she shouldn’t go back to Markarth, Selene had to consider it. She couldn’t fight a Goddess either.

The invisible arms tightened, as if they couldn’t bear to let her go. _We don’t have much time left. Your escort is getting anxious. But Selene, remember who you are. Remember wherever you go, you go with my love. And keep your eyes open—take your chances when they come._

Her escort. “Wait,” Selene said. “Ulfric. Should I stay with him?”

Dibella laughed again, full of joy. The sound warmed Selene like the rarest of brandies. _You won’t be troubled by Ulfric much longer, love. Just remember—take your chances when they come. You’ll know when it’s the right time to take your leave._

Selene nodded and held the petal to her breast, and breathed deep of its fragrance. She allowed herself one more moment to bask in the warmth that surrounded her before opening her eyes and letting go.

The shrine was no longer warm, no longer glowing with Dibella’s presence. And Selene’s heart ached. But she felt stronger. Still fearful, but now with a bit of hope. Dibella hadn’t left her.

She stood up and dressed quickly and trotted to the clearing at the edge of the woods where Ulfric’s men sat in sight of Dibella’s shrine, drinking from meadskins and passing around bread and berries.

They were smiling. Laughing. One man who hadn’t come in on the cart at Helgen, his hair a shining, dark chestnut, leaned back against a giant rock, his head resting on one arm. Relaxed. Selene closed her mouth, suddenly aware it had fallen open—she’d not seen them smile, none of them, not even once. Selene took a deep breath and tentatively sent her senses scrying about the group.

_Excitement. Celebration. Relief._

Her own relief shuddered through her body, and Selene resisted the urge to jump up and down and squeal. She could _feel_ again. Selene sent a wave of thanks to Dibella. Since waking up after Helgen, she’d been impaired and untethered without the grounding effect of sensing the desires, the emotions of others—even things she didn’t want to experience, didn’t want to know about. She didn’t feel like herself without it. 

“Did something happen?”

The Stormcloaks fell silent at her question, but their relief and excitement hummed steady. The dark-haired one looked up at her, a ghost of a smile still on his lips. “We’re in Eastmarch, priestess.”

“No Empire here, no Dominion lackies,” a short man added, his knotted blond beard wagging. “Matter of fact, elves of all stripes need to hide their ears while they’re here, lest we take ‘em as trophies. Right, boys?”

Their celebration picked back up with yells and slaps and laughter. Selene didn’t blame the men for their celebration—constant vigilance was wearying. And, if they were in Eastmarch, they couldn’t be that far from Windhelm—if Windhelm still stood.

Footsteps sounded behind Selene. She whirled around. Ulfric stomped past her without a look or a nod and snapped his fingers. “Up,” he barked. Selene frowned. Her ability had returned, but Ulfric…there was nothing. No sense of what he was feeling, no hint of the terrifying man under his noble façade. But she couldn’t miss the smile that tilted the corners of his mouth as he watched his men jump to his command. “Keep an eye on the forests, lads, while we’re on the move. Catch what rabbits you can. We’ll have a campfire tonight!”

The men cheered this time as they rousted themselves and started walking again. Selene fell in behind them. Eastmarch, finally. And then Windhelm. Dibella had told her she wouldn’t need to stay with Ulfric much longer. Surely she’d have the chance to make a break for it in the city.

_Take your chances when they come._

* * *

Selene crouched over a curious plant growing in the middle of the rocky road. Flat, yellow-green leaves grew close to the ground, radiating out from round, blue berries. She plucked one and turned it over on her palm. Hard as a rock. Footsteps drew up behind her.

“What,” the dark-haired Stormcloak said, laughing at her puzzled expression, “never seen a jazbay grape before?”

“It can’t be.” Selene stood up and frowned at the tough-skinned orb rolling on her palm. “This is too hard, too…blue.”

He took the fruit and squeezed its tip. Selene gasped—the soft, purplish grape she was familiar with plopped onto her palm. He snorted. “Imagine, never having to peel your own grapes,” he said, and ran off to catch up with the rest of the men.

Selene mouthed his words at his back and rolled her eyes. She popped the grape into her mouth. It burst between her teeth, its juice sweet and just tart enough to make her mouth water.

And the best part of it was, she could stop all she liked. Pick all the grapes she liked. Since they’d crossed the border into Eastmarch, the Stormcloaks—even Ulfric—hadn’t guarded her steps like they’d done in the Rift. Selene enjoyed it, the freedom, the afternoon sunshine. Walking on a road rather than breaking a trail through a thick forest. She wondered if touring Skyrim with Myka might have been like this, if the dragon hadn’t attacked and ruined their plans. Selene picked up her step. When she reached Windhelm, she’d inquire after survivors from Helgen. Surely she and Ulfric’s men couldn’t be the only ones.

Leaves rustled, and a rabbit darted out of the woods and across her path, followed by yet another blond, bearded Stormcloak, his dagger poised at his hip. Selene felt a little guilty, not having made any effort to learn their names. She’d do that, when they stopped for the night, gathered around a campfire.

She was just imagining what it would feel like to be truly warm again, when a sound stopped her in her tracks. A familiar sound—splashing, and a dull slapping, like wood on top of a pool of water. She ran to the edge of the road. A river snaked below, not wide, something she could easily swim across. Sunlight gleamed on its smooth surface. The sound she heard had to be a waterwheel.

The Stormcloak ran back by with the rabbit in his fist. Selene cleared her throat. “Is there a mill nearby? A town?”

He nodded, turning to face her and jogging backward. “Mixwater Mill, just around the bend. We’ll cross the bridge, and there’s hot springs on the other side. You’ll be the one to cover your eyes this time, priestess,” he said with a wink. “I fancy a bit of a bath.”

Selene smiled and watched him run up the hilly road and out of sight. Yes, the freedom was nice. The sunlight was nice, and the blue sky. And although she was still eager to be rid of Ulfric and the Stormcloaks altogether, she had to admit the change in their demeanor would make the rest of the journey to Windhelm much more pleasant.

She crouched again, this time over a gold and red flower on a long stem. She was just about to lean over and take a sniff when a clap of thunder boomed, shaking the trees and scattering flocks of birds from the canopy. She stood up and looked at the sky; the sunlight had disappeared behind black, swirling clouds. Selene scowled—there hadn’t been even a hint of a storm a few minutes ago. She picked up speed, running up the road.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the rise. Selene ducked. Sparks flew from the forest, followed by a crack nearly as loud as the thunder itself. Selene caught a whiff of ozone and burning wood, her only warnings before a tree crashed through the underbrush and onto the road.

It lurched forward, its branches crunching on the road and whipping around its trunk as it rolled down the hill.

Toward Selene.

She only froze a moment, looking for a way around the tumbling behemoth, but she couldn’t scramble up the bank into the forest quickly enough, and the river was too far a drop. 

So she turned and ran. Rain poured from the sky and plastered her hair to her face. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her and hadn’t paid attention to the road and her surroundings on the way up the hill. She’d been too preoccupied with flowers and grapes. But it couldn’t be worse than what sped toward her.

Her lungs burned. Her feet pounded on the road, the impact sending waves of pain into her shins. And then, the pain was gone. The road was gone. Selene hung in the air, her legs kicking wildly as she fell, her hands grasping for something, anything to hold onto. 

Something solid touched her foot, and she braced herself, but the slamming, crunching impact never came. Instead, her body plunged into water, freezing and churning. Selene kicked, instinct taking over, and she clawed her way up to the surface, gulping for air.

She opened her eyes. The rain had stopped. She must have fallen into the river. A structure stood precariously on its banks, its stones crumbling and covered in moss and vines, its door hanging from its hinges.

_Take your chances when they come._

It wasn’t what Selene had expected, but it was a chance to escape Ulfric. She could hide inside until morning, and make for the mill. Surely Ulfric would give her up for lost by then. Selene clambered out of the river onto the bank, her head ringing. She opened the door with a wet-sounding creak, and slipped inside.


	6. Talking to Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Kaidan

The hinges creaked behind her, a metallic screech that echoed through what had to be a cavernous room. With the door shut, there was more shadow than light, and Selene stood still to let her eyes grow accustomed to the dark.

_It’s freezing in here._

No sooner had Selene uttered the words in her head, then a billowing surge of heat surrounded her, warming—she slid her hands down her waist to her hips and up to her hair—and drying her body instantly, from her sandals to the curls that tumbled down her back in what she knew would be a flawless, shining fall of copper. A torch would have been nice, or a sword and the magical ability to use it, but Selene would take warm and dry in a pinch.

She stepped toward what she thought was the center of the room—a pale, blue light hovered there, toward the ceiling—and stopped short, at the top of what looked like a staircase. The top step squelched beneath her foot—mud or moss. Maybe even mushrooms. The building obviously suffered water damage. Selene could hear the tell-tale plinking, and the scent of mildew hung thick in the stale air.

Reason dictated she shouldn’t take the stairs. She didn’t need to explore a building that was falling down around its own foundations. She could—should— stay where she was. It was uncomfortable, but she could sleep there and wait for Ulfric to head to Windhelm and leave in the morning, just like she planned.

She heaved an exhausted sigh—her feet had descended three steps while she’d tried to talk herself out of it.

“Fine,” she whispered angrily and took three more, moving closer to the light. If she was going to do something stupid and dangerous, she might as well be able to see it. Halfway down what turned out to be a massive spiral stone staircase set into the wall, a torch sputtered in a sconce. Selene lifted it out and held it at arm’s length. It smoked and stank of oil, but at least it would keep her from tripping or sinking into a broken step.

She swept the torch in an arc. She was right—plenty of mud coated the stairs, and dripping moss draped the walls. At bottom of the staircase, water puddled in broken stone tiles throughout the cavernous room she’d detected when she’d opened the door. It reached three stories up; the blue light she’d seen looking down turned out to be reflected watery sunlight seeping through a hole in the second-story wall.

And there was no shortage of mushrooms.

She clucked her tongue against her teeth, laughing softly as the sound echoed through the room. She’d taken her chance in the storm, and she’d walked down the stairs though every rational thought in her brain screamed at her to stay put. She just hoped Dibella knew what She was about.

A noise through a doorway to the right made her freeze. A chair sliding across the floor, perhaps. And footsteps, growing louder. Clanging, metallic. Seconds later, her torchlight shone on a man in bright armor glaring down at her from an impressive height.

“Stop there,” he said. Selene’s eyes widened. A mer, not a man. His accent matched Ondolemar’s. “Y-you are interfering with official Dominion affairs.”

What was the Dominion doing in Eastmarch? Ulfric and his men had made a strong case for their leaving the hold alone—the thought of elven ears decorating a Nord’s trophy case made her shiver—but perhaps the Thalmor found it less of a threat. Through the opening in his winged helmet, the mer’s eyes flicked over her body, and Selene followed his gaze. Dibella hadn’t seen fit to change her out of the see-through lace dress. And when her eyes met the mer’s again, she was glad of it. Desire rolled off the Altmer in waves, only slightly weaker than another fascinating emotion—shame.

That, she found familiar too, though she’d never understood it, people—elves, humans, beastfolk—who found shame in desire. At least the Altmer’s shame was something she could work with.

She clapped her free hand over her chest and took several deep breaths. “I’m sorry, truly. But I’ve just escaped a troop of Stormcloaks, and—“

“Stormcloaks? I told him we should have stayed out of Eastmarch,” the mer muttered under his breath, and sighed. “Where are they?”

“They ran past me on the road and shoved me to the side,” she said, with a silent prayer he wouldn’t ask about her clean, dry clothing, “but before I fell, I heard them say they were going to Mixwater to find more men and come back to clear the fort,” she said, opening her eyes even wider. “That’s not what this is, is it?” She took a slow, practiced step toward him, and another when he backed away. “You should stay down here. Hide! I’d hate for them to hurt you.”

He sneered and took another step back. “I fear nothing,” he said, but his gaze moved down her body again, and Selene definitely felt a little fear, there, mixed with the shame. He slipped around behind her and drew the sword at his hip. “But I will teach any man what it means to cross the Dominion.” He pointed to a sodden bench against the wall. “Stay there. Touch nothing.”

Selene smiled at his retreating form and waited until his clanging footsteps faded before she hurried through the doorway into a small room lit not by torches and sconces, but by a bright ball of magelight hovering just below the ceiling. Definitely signs of habitation, if not the comforts of home. A basic woolen bedroll spread on one long table, safe from the damp. Books, a lantern and a bowl of soup sat on another smaller table, along with brown bread and a plate of cut vegetables. Selene took a bright, orange carrot and bit off the end, chewing it as she left the room, and wandered down a long, dark hallway.

* * *

Selene chewed her way through half the carrot before she realized where she was, and once she knew, she tossed the carrot aside, her appetite gone. It was a prison. Or at least it had been. The smell of mildew was stronger down the hall, as well as other smells Selene hadn’t recognized until she’d seen body parts—human and animal—in various states of decomposition, left rotting in cells made up of rusting metal bars. She’d searched two cells for survivors before deciding it was a lost cause.

But why was a Dominion agent living there, among so much death and decay? In an abandoned prison in Eastmarch?

Selene scowled and turned a corner, and froze. The prison wasn’t abandoned after all—someone _was_ alive. She took a step—there it was. Anger. Fury, really. Desperation, too, which made sense, given their surroundings. She tiptoed down the corridor toward the emotions she sensed and stopped, pressing her back against the wall opposite the last cell on the left.

Nothing moved there, nothing she could see. A lantern burned on a small table inside the cell. Maybe the agent had captured a Stormcloak soldier. If so, it made sense why he’d rushed off. One Dominion agent against a troop of Stormcloaks bent on revenge didn’t seem like great odds. She took a deep breath and moved closer to the cell. The door was just ajar. Selene opened it, cringing at the high-pitched creak, and walked inside.

Her torch swept over a filthy stone floor, wet with the water that seemed to seep in through the stones, and something darker. Blood, she realized, when the next sweep of her torch revealed a man on his knees, chained to the wall, his arms bound tight, high above his dark head. Selene winced at the unnatural twist of his shoulders. It was his blood pooling on the floor, running in rivulets down his body, staining the steel implements on a nearby table. Selene had never seen anything like it. Even in Helgen, the destruction was the act of a beast, a monster.

But then, what else but a monster could do something like this?

A tiny sob escaped her throat, and she stepped forward, wondering if he was alive, if he could be healed. At the same time, the man raised his head. His eyes—his red eyes—met hers, swimming with anger and hate. Selene skipped back, her heel slipping on the bloody stone.

“When I get out of here, I’ll—“

His raspy voice choked, and he coughed, flecks of blood landing on his chin.

“I’ll kill you,” he said, and coughed harder, his chest heaving.

Selene stood, frozen to the spot. Red eyes. She’d never seen a man with red eyes. A Dunmer, certainly, but their eyes were different. So…alien, like great cabochon garnets popped into sockets that were all curves and dramatic slopes. But this man was, well, a man. Man-shaped eyes, man-shaped everything else, as far as she could see, under all the blood.

The only sort of man she knew of who might have red eyes was a vampire.

“What’re you staring at, eh?” The man looked her up and down. More hate, and a little disgust suffused his gaze. “Cyrelian’s fancy piece, are you? Funny,” he said, and spat out a mouthful of blood, “didn’t think his tastes ran to human.”

Selene swallowed. “Who are you?”

“I’m their fucking guest, can’t you tell?” He laughed, reedy and dry, and winced. Selene flinched. Sounded like he’d screamed his throat raw. “The Dominion invited me to high tea. We’re having a lovely time.”

“Listen,” Selene said. “Is Cyrelian one of the Thalmor? I just saw a Dominion agent leave, not sure how long he’ll be gone. But I’m not with them. I can help you.”

His eyes widened and Selene felt a wisp of hope that vanished too quickly. “If you’re not with them, get me out of here.”

Selene held the torch over his head. “Where’s the key?”

Another wisp of hope, this one a little stronger. “On the table by the door. They kept it there on purpose,” he said, and spat again. “So close, yet so fucking far.”

Selene passed the torch to her left hand and grabbed the key. She stared down at the chained man, and frowned.

He matched it, and a wave of anger and hate nearly knocked her down. “Is this a game, then? They put you up to this?”

Selene shook her head. If he was a vampire, and she released him, she had no doubt what would happen. After everything else—the dragon, Ulfric, falling into the river—the thought of dying, cold and bloodless in a starving vampire’s grasp was too much. “I’m sorry,” she said, tears blurring her vision.

He went limp in his chains, all his hate and anger fizzled away to nothing—no sadness, no desperation, just…nothing. “Go on. Tell them you had a laugh off me, whatever. Just go away.”

She took one shaking step forward, then another. “Are you a vampire?” She whispered the question, her heart racing.

He lifted his head, slowly. “No,” he said, and let his head hang down again.

Selene sniffled and swiped at her eyes. He was telling the truth. Gods, he was telling the truth. And she’d let him hang there all this time. A flicker of anger licked at her spine. She set the torch in a sconce on the wall and crouched in front of the man, both of her palms flat against the ruined mess of his chest.

“Hey, he said jerking in his chains. “What’re you doing?”

“Healing you.” His mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth. “This will hurt,” she said, with an apologetic smile, and let a stream of healing magic flow into her hands. She was used to the fire of it—to the healer, the heat was a pleasant rush, at first. For the patient, not so much. She could tell the instant he felt the pain, the magic flowing through his body, forcing injured bone, muscle, and skin to knit back together. His body stiffened, and a whine escaped his lips.

A minute passed, and another, and still it wasn’t enough. His injuries cried out to her—lacerations on his chest and back slicing through skin and muscle. Whatever they’d cut him with had left marks on his bones. Several ribs broken, internal bleeding throughout his gut. Dark bruises just above the waistline of his ripped linen leggings told that tale.

“Hey,” he said, through a clenched, trembling jaw. “You alright? You’re pale.”

She was cold. So cold. She needed to let go. But it wasn’t enough. How could she stop when he was still in so much pain? She kept the healing fire streaming through her palms.

“You need to stop,” he said, louder, and jerked again in his chains. “Stop it. Look, you daft woman, there’s a potion on the table, over there. Where you found the key.”

A potion. A potion would help. Might heal him the rest of the way. Selene whimpered, but let go of the magic. Warmth rushed back to her core. She closed her eyes and slumped to her knees.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and cleared his throat. “Alright. What’s your name?”

“Selene,” she said, and yawned. Gods, she was tired.

“Ok. Alright, Selene. I’m Kaidan,” he said. Without the damage to his throat, his voice was lovely, deep and…there was something familiar about it. Something…

“Selene,” he said, his words sharp. His chains rattled next to her ear. “Listen. The Thalmor. You’ve got to let me out. They’ll come back soon, they always do. So if you’re really not with them—“

“I’m not,” she said, sleepily.

“Then, I think you see the problem, here?”

She blinked, gazing up at him. “But, I’ve got the key.”

“Yeah,” he said, the urgency in his voice softened with what felt like amusement. Was he laughing at her? “It’s still in your hand.”

She stumbled to her feet, pushing against his chest, and aimed the key at the lock at his wrist. It went in and turned with a click that sounded unnaturally loud to Selene’s ears.

Kaidan fell to the floor in a heap. “Gods, I’m sorry,” Selene said, taking his hands in hers and helping him up to his knees.

“I can do it,” he said. “Just out of practice.”

He bent one knee and slowly pushed himself up to stand, wobbling only a little. He stared down at Selene and frowned.

“Potion,” he said, reaching a long arm over to grab the little red bottle. “Drink it.”

“No, that’s for you.” Selene shook her head and pushed the bottle away. “I don’t need it. I’m just sleepy.”

“But you don’t have time to sleep,” he said, and pointed the bottle at her mouth.

Selene shook herself and blinked. Her vision cleared. “I’m fine. Healing just makes me tired. But if it will shut you up,” she said, and lifted the bottle to her lips and sniffed first, then sipped. She did feel a bit better, though she knew it couldn’t be from the potion—potions worked more slowly than healing magic. “Now you.” She handed him the bottle. He laughed softly and downed the rest of it, and tossed the bottle on the floor with a clink.

“Alright,” he said, and stretched his arms out to his sides, above his head, down to his toes, the full span of his reach nearly filling the cell. He held his hands out, curling his fingers into fists and stretching them out again. “I’ve got to get my sword, and my armor if it’s still here. Then we can go.”

“Wait,” Selene said, placing her hand on his arm and craning her neck to look him in the eyes. Divines, he was taller than Myka. Nearly as tall as the Thalmor agent she’d sent after the Stormcloaks. “Shouldn’t we just go?”

“Can’t leave without my sword,” he said, but he said it like _me sword_ instead. That accent…Selene couldn’t quite place it. “It’s what got the Thalmor bastards interested in the first place. If it’s something they want, I’m not going to let them have it.”

Selene nodded, though she couldn’t imagine what kind of sword might be that interesting. Or valuable. “I tricked one of them into leaving. Out the front door. He wore golden armor.”

“That one’s come by a few times,” Kaidan said, his eyes narrowing, “to watch Cyrelian’s handiwork. But the head bastard himself is back that way, somewhere.” He pointed to the other side of the cell and down another dark hallway. “He’s a wizard, pretty damn powerful, but with luck, he’ll be cornered like a rat.”

Selene nodded. “I’ll go first and distract him.”

“Not a chance,” Kaidan growled, his long legs easily overtaking her.

“It worked with the other one.” Kaidan had no weapon. What was he going to do against a wizard? Selene looked around. Metal gleamed from an old barrel just outside the cell. “Kaidan,” she whispered, “there’s a sword. Take that, at least.”

“Thanks,” he said, and hefted it up in one hand, close to the sconce, tilting the blade this way and that. “Not my usual weight, but it’ll do until I get mine back.”


	7. Armor

He’d meant to tiptoe down the long, dark hall, to sneak into the little burrow they’d found, the little hideaway Cyrelian wormed his way into while he wasn’t perfecting his torture game. It was the smell that gave the wizard away—the stink of fermenting roots and bug guts and spider eggs and all the other nasty things magic users chopped up and brewed, day in and day out. Kaidan had choked on the odor for days, or…however long he’d been locked up. It hung around Cyrelian’s black velvet robes like a rotten fog, and every time he’d leaned over to drag a knife over his chest or pour poison down his throat, those robes brushed against his face. Kaidan looked forward to making Cyrelian eat them.

He’d imagined it, hanging there in his own filth, imagined the day he’d get free and hang Cyrelian and his dogsbody from chains of their own. Imagined all the things he’d do…

But when it happened, when he finally felt those fetters open and fall away from his wrists, all Kaidan wanted to do was get outdoors, see the sky again. So yeah, he’d given sneaking some thought, like Selene advised. End him quickly with a slice across the throat. But he wasn’t Selene. He couldn’t tiptoe. He didn’t slink like a cat on silent feet, the way she had when she’d walked into his cell. He’d not heard her footsteps at all, not even when she’d come close enough for him to see her torchlight reflected on the bloody floor. No, he wasn’t built for covert operations. So he decided to play to his strengths.

In the end, it didn’t even matter.

Cyrelian might have been a big bastard, with lightning shooting from his damned demon claws, but storm into a man’s hidey-hole waving a sword and catch him on the privy, and suddenly he’s a lot shorter, and a lot less threatening.

He’d expected Selene to be shocked, offended maybe, that he didn’t wait for him to finish, offer him a fair fight like some bloody paladin. But she’d not said a word, just stood in the doorway and watched him beat the wizard to a red and gold pulp with that clumsy iron sword.

Kaidan had swiped the blood from his face and thrown the sword in the privy, on top of the mess. It wasn’t worth keeping.

The second Thalmor bastard, the one in the shining armor, gave him a bit more trouble, but by the time the moron had clanked his way through the place, that precious armor alerting everyone for miles he was on his way, Kaidan had found his sword. The mer’s golden head had barely stopped rolling around on the floor when Selene bustled out and lay her hands on him again, his back this time. He needed it, he did—his ribs still hurt and something low on his back didn’t feel right—but damned if he was going to let her kill herself, not for him. He counted to twenty, gritting his teeth through the pain, and stepped away.

She stood there in the middle of the corridor, her hands on those lovely hips, glaring up at him. “You’ve been through a trauma,” she said, her posh city voice smooth and pretty. The voice of someone who’d never been through a _trauma_ themselves. “Let me finish.”

He shrugged and winced. His shoulder was still acting up a bit, might not ever be the same after hanging from chains for so long. Selene yawned. “See?” He jabbed the hilt of his sword toward the hand she’d drawn up to hide her wide-open mouth. “You’ve done enough. That potion we drank will finish the job.”

She said nothing, just fixed him with a cool sort of stare and walked off. “Hey,” he called to her retreating back, “sure you want to go back in there? Bound to be pretty ripe.” Kaidan crouched over the moron and checked the pouch on his armor. A handful of gold and two vials of potion. He’d take them and figure out what they did later.

Behind him, he heard drawers sliding open and shut, fabric ripping, cabinet doors slamming. What sounded like tables and chairs overturning. Either Selene was angry and taking it out on the furniture, or she was looking for something. Kaidan bit his lip and tapped the moron’s shining boot.

She’d not told him anything about herself apart from her name, and that she wasn’t working with the dead elves. Given she’d set him free and healed his wounds and watched him kill two agents with little more than a frightened gasp, he believed her. But what was she doing there, a woman like her—beautiful, unarmed, wearing a dress that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Daggerfall courtesan…

She was brave, he’d give her that, getting close enough to heal him when she was afraid he might be a vampire. Damned red eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time someone caught a look at him and run away screaming. Luckily, he thought, wiping blood off his blade with the moron’s undershirt, he liked his life better without people in it.

He stood up, sighing at the pleasure of moving his body without constant pain, without his ribs jabbing into his lungs or his finger bones popping out of joint. “Hey, Selene,” he said, and took a step toward the doorway, wrinkling his nose, “what are you looking for?”

She rifled through a drawer and held up a moth-eaten pair of leggings. “No Altmer would wear this. Must have belonged to one of the prison guards,” she said, and stuffed them in a fat leather satchel. “Have a look in that crate.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward a doorway on the other side of the privy. Kaidan didn’t know how she stood the smell. He was used to it, of course, but he figured she’d be puking her guts out by now. “There’s some armor. You wanted to find yours, didn’t you?”

His armor. He’d forgotten. After killing the wizard and finding his sword, everything else sort of faded into the background. He lay the sword on an overturned bed and went to check. Maybe they’d stored his bow there as well.

“There’s a bow, too,” she said in a muffled voice, leaning deep into a cupboard. “Ebony. Pretty.”

Kaidan grinned. Maybe Selene was a witch, that would explain a lot. He pulled the crate out of a waterlogged storeroom and into the light. His armor was there, and his bow and quiver full of good, steel arrows. “Hey, Selene,” he said, turning his bow over in his hands. It was good to hold it again. “What are you doing here? In this shithole, I mean. You don’t look like someone who…”

“Frequents torture chambers? I’m not.” She tied the ends of the leather satchel and swung it over one shoulder. Her eyes didn’t meet his own. “There’s a story there. I’m betting you have one, too. But,” she said, picking up another fat leather satchel in one hand and his sword in the other, “can we get out of here first?”

Kaidan didn’t need to be asked twice. He pulled his cuirass out of the crate and lifted it over his head. Damn, his shoulders ached. “Hey, Kaidan,” Selene said, leaning against the doorframe and watching him with a smile and one raised eyebrow, “don’t you want to wait to put that on?”

“Why?”

“You’re covered in…well.” She blushed and shrugged, both expressions curiously graceful, once again putting him in mind of a pricey courtesan, all soft comfort and seduction. He lowered the cuirass and rested his forearms on the crate, watching her right back, the hint of his own smile tickling his lips. The playfulness in her expression softened. “I’d want to wash, if I were you.”

Hearing those words was like being tossed headlong into freezing water. Kaidan frowned and looked down at himself. Blood and other things he didn’t want to identify smeared his arms and his chest, coated his hands. What was left of his leggings was sodden with it. He clenched his fists to stop their shaking. How had he not noticed? He ducked his head behind his matted hair and sniffed.

Gods. He smelled like a cesspit. Or a charnel house. His stomach heaved—it was him he’d been smelling all this time, his own stink. He felt a warm blush creep up his neck. Not that Selene could see it under all the muck. “Is there somewhere I can wash?” He rasped and coughed, and swallowed whatever had risen to the back of his throat. “Somewhere nearby?”

Selene pursed her lips and appeared to study him. One corner of her mouth twitched. “Funny thing about this…shithole,” she said, running a hand over the mossy wall and flicking droplets of water onto the floor. “Someone built it far too close to the river running right outside the front door. I’m surprised it hasn’t flooded already.”

 _A river_. Relief washed over him, and he tossed the coins and the potions he’d scavenged into the crate and picked it up. He hardly felt its weight. “Walk fast,” he said, and followed Selene out the door.

* * *

Dusk had fallen, a misty purple and gold, hazy over the river. Soft, white fog drifted up the steeply sloping riverbank and disappeared into forests beyond. Selene took a deep breath and let it out in a long, lusty exhale. Between Helgen and Kaidan’s cell and Cyrelian’s hideout, she wasn’t sure which smelled worse, but she’d never been happier to breathe fresh air than she was at that very moment. As for Kaidan, he simply stared—at the river, the sky—holding that crate to his chest like it was an anchor to the outside world, and without it he’d fall headlong back into that hole.

Selene was dying to find out more—why he was down there in the first place. How long a man could stand to be drenched in his own sweat, his own blood and waste before it became his new normal. Before he forgot what he looked like, how it felt to be clean. She opened her hand and let one satchel fall to the riverbank, setting Kaidan’s sword atop it, and pulled open the satchel she’d lugged over her shoulder. She’d found four cakes of lavender soap in Cyrelian’s room, and she’d torn rags from a clean bedsheet. She perched one cake on top of a couple of rags and held them out to Kaidan.

He blinked, and slowly lowered the crate to the ground. Wordlessly accepting the soap and the rags, he walked around the side of the prison’s stone tower. Selene heard a splash and a high-pitched yelp—she remembered how cold that water was—and a moment later, Kaidan’s filthy leggings floated by, disappearing under the little waterfall by the tower’s crooked threshold.

Selene sat on the edge of the crate. She took another cake of soap and washed her hands and feet in the river. The bloodstains on her dress were there to stay, but she rinsed her sandals and laughed, under her breath—she’d been so innocent, traipsing down that filthy staircase, thinking mushrooms and mud would be the most unsavory substances to touch her feet. A shiver that had nothing to do with the freezing river turned her skin to gooseflesh.

 _Monsters_.

So many monsters. She’d found Cyrelian’s journal in his desk and packed it up, unread. Surely it would mean more to Kaidan than to her. But she’d read some official Imperial correspondence stuffed in an old drawer—turns out, the decrepit tower really had served as a prison. A year ago, after a violent storm, the riverbank had begun a collapse, and the tower followed. After the river rose, the guards were ordered to leave, and leave the prisoners locked in their cells. To starve or drown, it didn’t matter. They weren’t worth the danger of transporting to safety.

How people lived like this, lived with making those sorts of decisions, Selene didn’t understand. And now, she was an accomplice to taking lives. She’d set Kaidan free, and he’d killed those two mer. Not that she blamed him. But actions had consequences, didn’t they?

Like the Greybeards, and Ulfric. Anja told her about the monks on the mountain, how they taught Ulfric the voice when he was a boy. Selene laughed at herself again—another thing she’d not believed until she’d seen it with her own eyes. Surely these Greybeards meant their teachings to be used for good, but Ulfric started a civil war with what he’d learned. Then again, half of Skyrim seemed to think that was a good thing. She wondered if Ulfric had stopped searching for her, if he’d given her up for dead and enjoyed an evening around the campfire with his men, secure in the knowledge that his city was only a day or two away.

She shivered, again. No one could be secure in anything anymore, if they ever were. Not after Helgen.

More splashing, and wet footsteps slapped on stone. Selene rummaged through the satchel and pulled out the rest of the bedsheet, along with underwear, an old pair of leggings, and a tunic that would probably be a little small on Kaidan, but better than nothing.

She stuffed the clothing under an arm, and held the bedsheet out in front of her like a pennant, edging along the curve of the broken tower. Kaidan stood at the distant end of the stone embankment, staring out across the river. In profile, in the shadows, with all that long, black hair streaming down his back, he looked like a statue or a painting, hardly the same bound and broken man she’d found in the prison.

A soft, flutter of peace settled on her shoulders, and she closed her eyes and called Dibella’s image to mind. Kaidan was alive—that was a consequence she could see and touch. The philosophy of it, she’d leave to Julianos’s followers, or maybe Stendarr’s to work out. “Thank you, love,” she whispered. It wasn’t true prayer, kneeling and naked as Dibella preferred, but the shimmer of warmth she felt at the small of her back was answer enough.

“I’ll take that.” Selene’s eyes flew open. Kaidan held the top of the bedsheet, his hands close to her own. She’d been lost in thought, she’d not even heard his footsteps, but now he stood so close she could feel the river’s chill on his skin. So close she could see the red of his eyes, crinkling as he smiled down at her. Selene gazed at the transformation. With all the blood washed away, his hair clean, and that lost look gone—the one that shuttered his face like a mask when he’d realized exactly how filthy he was— Kaidan was, well…there was no other word for it—he was _beautiful_. His ebony hair fell from a widow’s peak to frame a handsome face with high, rounded cheekbones and heavy brows that arched like the wing of a raven. The face of a predator, if his full lips hadn’t been curved in a smile. Her eyes flicked downward, but his body was hidden by the sheet. “Thanks,” he said, and took the bedsheet, wrapping it around his body. It covered him from chest to mid-thigh. He tilted his head, his smile fading. “That was meant for me, right?”

“Of course.” Selene smiled brightly and held out the clothes. “These, too. They’ll probably be too small, but under armor…”

“Thanks,” he said again, and took the bundle, shaking it out. He held up the tunic. “Dunno, might fit. I think I’ve shrunk.” He tossed the clothes on the dry ground. “A little privacy while I dry off? Could you turn round for a bit?”

Turning away from a work of art was the last thing she wanted to do. But she did, she turned, and listened to his feet shuffling on the stone. Fabric ripped. Kaidan swore under his breath. “Right, you can look now.”

“That was quick,” she said, and stopped mid-turn. Kaidan’s legs and chest were still bare. His fingers fumbled at the ties of his undershorts.

_Oh…_

“Not quick enough,” he snapped. “I don’t know how many times they broke and reset my fingers down there. Your little suicide mission set ‘em up fine, but damn me, they’re stiff.”

“It wasn’t a suicide mission,” Selene whispered. For all his talk of losing weight, she noticed nothing amiss. Angry red scars marked his body, that was to be expected, but they couldn’t hide the rest of his smooth, pale golden-brown skin, or the sleekly rounded muscles of his arms, his chest.

“Right, what would you call it, then?” Kaidan slipped the tunic over his head. His shorts slid down with the motion, just an inch. Selene fought the sudden urge to kneel and press her lips to the skin just below his hipbones, to taste him on her tongue. To slide her hands up his lean stomach to his chest, and undo the ribbons barely keeping that scrap of fabric around his hips. “Healing me all the way would have killed you. Looked that way to me, anyway.” With her teeth. To listen to him moan when she—

Selene closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. No, she couldn’t think like the Selene— _the sibyl_ —sheltered in Dibella’s tower, not anymore. Not until she knew more about the man, at least. “You needed it. I had it to give,” she said, listening to threads popping and Kaidan swearing as he wrestled with the too-small tunic. “Simple as that. We can argue about it all day, but I wouldn’t change it if I could.” She opened her eyes a tiny crack.

“Aye, I know,” Kaidan said, over a heavy sigh. “I know.” He stepped into his leggings and wiggled around to get them up over his thighs. Selene pursed her lips to hide a smile. “And that brings me to this. I don’t know why you were in that hole, no idea why you would be—that’s your secret to keep, if you want to. But you helped me, and you risked your life to do it. You didn’t have to. I owe you for that.”

She blinked up at him. A sliver of uneasiness touched her spine. “You’re welcome. But you owe me nothing. It’s not necessary.”

“Aye, it is. Without you, I’d still be down in that hole, so I owe you. I owe you my life, in fact. And I’m not a man who’s comfortable being in debt.”

“Kaidan, a gift doesn’t come with a debt.”

He scowled and shook his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ears. “I’m not a man accustomed to getting presents either. Look, I owe too many debts already, and this is one I can pay with ease. Let me do it. Please.”

A flash of red above Kaidan’s right eyebrow caught her attention. He must have missed a spot of blood. Selene reached up to wipe it away. She brushed the skin above his temple, and her hand warmed, and then grew hot, as though she was touching a coal in a brazier. She tried to pull her hand back, but it wouldn’t budge. Her vision began to blur and then darken to deep red, like minuscule droplets of blood had fallen into her eyes and spread, searing. Panic set in and she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed…

…thunder rolled, and Selene slowly opened her eyes. She still stood with her hand on Kaidan’s temple. But instead of a gray stone tower at their backs with a river lapping at their toes, they stood on a field of unrelieved black that felt like dead, burned-out coals under her feet. A river of molten fire flowed an arms-length away, hissing and popping and sending clouds of choking black smoke swirling up to a fiery red sky. Her heart raced. She tried again to pull her hand away, but it stuck like she’d been pinned there, against the red mark on Kaidan’s face.

“Where are we?” Her question fell apart as she spoke. No noise, not even breath escaped her mouth. She placed her hand on Kaidan’s chest and pushed. Surely he could understand her, even if she made no sound. But Kaidan only stared at her—no, through her, she realized. His eyes were lifeless and, though he should have been blinking away tears from the stinging smoke, unmoving. 

“I can’t move my hand,” she cried, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “Kaidan!” She took a breath and coughed, the smoke coating the back of her throat with what felt like tar, and tasted like ash. She tried again, slowly gathering all the breath her lungs could hold and let it out in the loudest scream she could muster. “Kaidan!”

Silence fell. The fiery river stopped its hissing, and a pressure began to build around them. The air thickened, and then, far off in the distance, a scream rose—one, then ten, a hundred, a thousand screams, and a low, growling voice spoke above the din, in words she didn’t understand. And then she did—one word, at least.

 _Kaidan_.

Selene kicked out and yanked at her hand. “Help,” she screamed again, her voice nothing but air.

 _Kaidan_ , the voice growled, louder. Closer.

Selene braced her free hand against Kaidan’s chest. Every ounce of strength, of power, she focused, every thread of magic she possessed, she focused…and pushed—

—and stumbled back, slapping her palm against the tower. The red, burning sky and fiery river dissolved before her eyes, revealing a softly darkening violet sky, dotted with pale stars. Selene gulped lungfuls of air, sweet and clean. She gazed up at Kaidan.

_Kaidan._

His handsome face crinkled up in a puzzled frown. “You ok?”

A whimper escaped her barely parted lips. But she heard it, at least. And the tower was rough under her hand, and the riverbank soft and grassy under her feet. Her legs shook, and she stumbled back again and slid down the rough stone. She scrubbed her hands over her face.

“Whoa,” Kaidan said, crouching at her side, threads popping in his too-tight leggings, “I know you’ve had a bit of a scare. You should probably rest for a few minutes before we leave.”

Selene stilled her hands and peered out at Kaidan through splayed fingers. His face was drawn with exhaustion and what looked like concern for her, but nothing more. Not the terror that rivers of fire and burning skies and a voice growling his name should have provoked. She cleared her throat. “What...what scare do you mean?”

He glanced between her and the prison door, one brow arched high. “I think you’ve been trying to put up a tough front, but you don’t look like a woman who’s seen much death.” He shrugged and held his hands out, an apologetic sort of pose. “Can’t have been easy for you, me killing those Thalmor, and, ah…the way I killed ‘em. Death isn’t something that’s easy to watch,” he said, his eyes softening. “But it shouldn’t be.”

Selene’s mouth dropped open behind her hands. Her head spun. She held his gaze and sifted through his emotions—pity and concern for her, anxiety like needles poking at his skin, driving him to go, to run from the place he’d been held captive. But no fear, nothing suggesting he’d seen the fire, the smoke, the scorched earth stretching for miles.

She glanced from his eyes to the red thing she’d touched on his temple—a tattoo, she saw, on closer inspection, hidden under his hair until he’d pushed it behind his ears. Some sort of symbol—a rune, perhaps—following close to his hairline, from his temple to his jaw. What would happen if she touched it again? She had to know. She took a deep breath and held it, her heart pounding, and reached out. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers brushed his skin. 

“Selene.”

Desire rippled through Kaidan’s voice. Selene pried open her eyes—his expression had sharpened to what looked like wary curiosity, but everything else—the violet sky, the icy river—looked the same. “Sorry,” she said, snatching her hand back, her breath escaping her lungs in a ragged rush, “thought I saw something there.”

“Look,” he said, and shook his hair loose, covering the tattoo. “I’m good with a sword, I can see you safe to wherever you’re bound.”

Selene shivered. “Have you ever…” she bit her lip and glanced down at the river. She was no stranger to eerie visions—she’d intercepted prayers to beings she shouldn’t have, her dreams were haunted by dragons and mountaintop battles and songs she’d never heard. But…

He shrugged. “Ever what?”

But what she’d seen when she’d touched Kaidan’s tattoo felt different. Her words came out in a tumble. “Have you ever seen something you weren’t sure about? Whether or not it was really there, I mean?”

She’d expected him to laugh at her, or look at her like she was crazed. But he only smiled, and a sad smile at that, one that barely tweaked the corners of his mouth and didn’t light his eyes. “I’ve wondered the same thing since you walked into my cell. Now tell me,” he said, taking her hands in his and pulling her up to stand. “Where do you want to go?”

If she’d really seen…what she’d seen, she didn’t know how Kaidan couldn’t have seen it too. Unless he was in denial, or in some sort of trance. If that was the case, and something…some being…had called out Kaidan’s name, he was in danger. And he shouldn’t be alone. And if she was seeing things in her mind, a product of her nightmares, perhaps, or the dragon, and Helgen, if she was seeing things that weren’t there, things that reduced her to a shivering mess, well…she shouldn’t be alone either.

So, she’d accept his offer. But where to go? She closed her eyes and called the image of her map to mind. Markarth was too far away—she couldn’t ask him to escort her across the whole of Skyrim—and Windhelm out of the question. Riften…possible. But Whiterun was closest, and the most centrally located. She’d find supplies, a courier, and a carriage back to Markarth, if that was the choice she ended up making. And a healer, if that’s what she needed.

Decision made, she squared her shoulders and mimicked the pose she’d learned from Ulfric—her arms crossed over her chest, and her chin raised, looking down her nose at Kaidan, though she barely reached his chest. “Take me to Whiterun.”


	8. Terrible Dinner Conversation

Kaidan approached the rocky overhang with as much stealth as he could manage. He’d taken his armor off, at least. Bound to help, some. Selene sat where he’d left her, watching over the rabbit roasting for what turned out to be a very late supper. She leaned on one hand, with her knees bent toward her other side. Her other hand rested on one thigh, and she gazed into the fire. She looked like a lady in a painting. Sweet Dibella, did every move she made have to be so damned graceful?

He chuckled, wondering how graceful she’d look if he happened to nudge her into the river during their walk tomorrow. By accident, of course. Would she swim gracefully as well? In his mind, she did—fluttering like a water nymph, gazing up at him with a pretty pout. And, in his mind, he jumped in after and scooped her into his arms.

It was going to be a long road to Whiterun. _But you’ve always been an idiot, chasing after things you can’t have. No reason to stop now, when it’s doing you so much good._ Something crunched under his boot, and Selene turned toward the sound. “Kaidan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He made it back to the campsite and sniffed, the scent of searing meat making his mouth water. “How’s the little guy?”

Selene poked a slightly-charred leg with a stick and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. I’ve never cooked rabbit before.”

Kaidan crouched beside the fire and and investigated the rabbit. Or, tried to investigate the rabbit. But his eyes kept drifting up. There was something different about Selene. He started at the top—hair was the same. Same long, brown curls. No new ribbons, no jewelry. His gaze drifted down; he flinched, and wobbled on his heels. The lace dress was gone.

When did she have time to change clothes?

He sighed—he liked that lace dress, for all it was the most impractical wisp of fabric he’d ever seen. The new one was red, long enough to cover her feet. It looked warmer, too. Long sleeves, some sort of thick, fuzzy fabric. Looked like it would feel soft and warm under his hands.

 _Damn_.

He took Selene’s stick and poked the rabbit, rolling the legs over on the coals, turning the back loin and his favorite—the belly. His eyes drifted up again to the ribbon at her neckline. It wove in and out, down to the curve of her… _damn it_. “You changed clothes quick,” he said, forcing his eyes back to their supper.

He felt the grin, saw it in his mind, curving her lips. “Maybe you just take a long time to—“

“I do not,” he snapped. “What are you, anyway, a camel? Do you never have to go?”

She looked at him archly. “I didn’t drink half the river before we left.”

He’d been thirsty, true enough—hadn’t realized how much until after he’d stepped into the river, felt the clean water wash over him. He still had trouble believing the state Selene had found him, how filthy, how broken. After he’d washed the dirt and blood and gunk from his body, watching it float on the water like sheets of rot in a swamp before it surrendered to the current, he’d floated there, staring up at the sky. He’d barely even noticed the cold. 

They hadn’t talked much on the way; they’d walked as fast as they could to get away from the prison, in case more Thalmor were nearby. Selene changed positions, crossing her legs in front of her. She rubbed her calf, and he looked at her with pity. She’d had to take two steps for every one of his, in those ridiculous sandals. Her legs probably ached. But every time he slowed down, she would fuss at him to keep going. So there wasn’t much breath for conversation. But now, he was dying to talk. To get some answers.

He cut into the thickest piece of rabbit with his dagger. “It’s ready,” he said, and glanced around for someplace to put it. “I suppose we can get a couple of pieces of flat bark to eat this on, like a plate.”

Selene shuddered. “No, let’s not,” she said, and reached for one of her stuffed leather packs. She’d insisted on carrying the damn thing through the forest. He’d tried to take both, but Selene swore she wouldn’t be a burden, carrying nothing while he had to carry his sword as well. She wouldn’t have been anything of the sort—the weight was nothing to him. But he was nearly twice her size.

She untied the leather flap, and started unpacking. Out came a stack of thick, folded fabric. She tossed it away from the fire. “Clean cloaks. We can sleep under them.” A bottle of wine, a fat wedge of yellow cheese. She glanced around. “Where’s the pouch of jazbay we picked?” Kaidan tapped his chest pocket and pulled out the bag of fruit. He watched her rummage some more. “Here we are,” she said, and took out a round loaf of bread. “Slice this in disks and we can put the rabbit on it. It’ll taste much better than bark.”

Kaidan’s stomach growled. But he leaned over to see what else she’d packed. Like a lad on his nameday. “What else you got in there?”

She held up a ring, gold and ruby. Pretty. And a gold necklace. He wondered why she didn’t put them on. “Other than that, a couple more loaves. Another bottle of wine. Nothing special. But handy when you’re hungry,” she said, and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You have to be starving, aren’t you?”

His legs ached from crouching. He lowered himself to sit cross-legged and sliced into the bread. He placed a rabbit leg and some belly meat on the two disks and passed one to Selene. “I’m hungry,” he said. “But starvation wasn’t one of their tactics. They didn’t give me anything good. Just some sort of gruel they said would keep me alive while they…”

He glanced up at the too-dark sky, at Masser and Secunda, hanging high overhead like a pair of overripe fruit. Time for answers, starting with the one he dreaded to hear the most. “What’s the date?”

Selene bit her lip, like she wasn’t sure herself. “First of Heartfire,” she said, around a bite of rabbit. “I think. This is really good, thank you.”

Kaidan’s stomach turned. He hadn’t known, of course, how long he’d hung in his chains. No calendar, no rising sun. And Cyrelian hadn’t been forthcoming. But he hadn’t imagined…

He ripped the meat from a rabbit leg and chewed. He’d been camping out in Falkreath, tracking a bounty, on the last of Sun’s Height. Last thing he remembered before waking up in chains was lightning coming through his tent.

“Kaidan.”

A month, he’d been in that hole. He’d thought it was days, a week at most. But dark had fallen too soon, while they walked—he’d calculated another hour of twilight, at least. And when the moons and stars rose too high, and too far east... “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“How long?” Selene asked, and Kaidan looked up in surprise. Anger, not the pity he’d expected, colored her voice.

“A month,” he said, and squeezed a grape out of its peel and straight into his mouth. “Don’t that just beat all.”

His stomach growled again and a hunger pang sliced into his gut. “You know,” he said, focusing on Selene’s pursed lips and furrowed brow. A face like a thundercloud. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. “I want to hear about you. What’s your story?”

“But, Kaidan—“

“You’re right, I need to eat. And I can’t eat if I’m thinking of what they…of the last month,” he said. “So I need you to talk to me, right?”

Selene nodded shakily. “Not sure what I have to tell you will be any better for your appetite.” She picked at the fabric of her dress, stretched over her knee. “Do you remember, did they say anything about Helgen, while…”

Kaidan swallowed the bite he’d been chewing and reached for the wine, popping the stopper with his thumb. “Mind if we share this? Unless you brought cups.” Kaidan grinned at Selene’s huff of frustration.

“I knew I’d forgotten something,” she said, and gestured to the bottle. “No, go ahead.” She waited while he drank, long and deep.

“I don’t remember any talk about Helgen,” he said. There wasn’t anything especially memorable about that city. “What were you doing there?”

“Long story, one that’s not for tonight,” she said. A sort of wistful smile touched her lips, and faded too quickly. Kaidan polished off the rest of his meat, in case what she had to tell him really was that bad.

He listened to her tale of Helgen, of getting there in time to see Ulfric Stormcloak’s execution. “What about that! Ulfric Stormcloak is dead! I knew they’d get him eventually, but—“

“He’s not dead,” Selene snapped, with a little more anger than he thought his comment warranted. “And stop interrupting me.”

He listened again until she mentioned a dragon. And he laughed. “A what?” He shook the bottle of wine. He was tired and it had been a while since he’d had a drink, but a dragon? She had to be joking.

But she wasn’t joking. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and it wasn’t long until something burned his eyes as well. By the time she reached the part where she’d lain on the debris and filth-strewn ground underneath the beast itself, and waited for it to burn her alive, he could no longer keep quiet. “How? How are you here, Selene? If you’re not making this up—“

“I’m not!”

“I know you’re not,” he snarled, goose bumps rising across his neck with the realization that she was telling the truth. He wasn’t sure how he knew, how he could take such an outlandish story on faith, but…Selene had sauntered into a Thalmor den with no weapons, and had freed him with nothing more than a flick of her pretty wrist. Were dragons really more far-fetched than that? “I know you’re not,” he said again, more gently, “but I damned well wish you were. How did you live though that and make it all the way to”—he looked around—“where the fuck even are we? Somewhere in Eastmarch, you said, before?” Why the Dominion had taken him to Eastmarch, he had no idea. Yet another mystery to add to the pile.

She nodded, looking miserable. “They…they said it —where we were, the prison—was a few hours south of a place called Mixwater Mill.”

Kaidan called up an image of his old map to mind. He’d not found it with his bow and armor; the Thalmor must not have bothered to take it from his campsite. But he knew that place. Not a terrible little village, for Eastmarch at least. “A couple days walk to Windhelm, if you follow the river.” And then, something she said—the way she’d said it—finally registered. “‘They’ said it. Who’s ‘they?’”

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” she said. Kaidan thought he recognized shame on her face, before she looked down at her lap, picking at the fabric of her dress. “He’s the reason I escaped from Helgen. And I went into that prison to get away from him.”

* * *

Selene stared at her lap, breathing deep and letting the swell of sorrow abate; she’d not spoken of Helgen in days, not since Ulfric. She hadn’t known it would hurt so much, still. 

“What did he do?”

The venom coursing through Kaidan’s voice made her jump, though he spoke in a near whisper. She glanced up, and her eyes widened. The face of a predator, she’d thought. And she was right—his lips curled in a snarl, rather than a smile, and lightning seemed to flicker in his blood-red eyes. She shivered, and her gaze shifted to his tattoo, just for a moment.

What in the world had him so angry? And then, she knew. “Oh, no,” she said with a frantic wave of her hand, “nothing like that. I wasn’t…violated. Not like what you’re probably thinking, given the look on your face.” She touched her collarbone, where Ulfric’s mark had long since faded. Kaidan seemed slightly mollified. He relaxed his jaw and furrowed brow and started tearing apart his bread. He popped a piece in his mouth and chewed furiously.

“He had to do something to hurt you, frighten you. Something to make you think walking into that stinking prison was better than staying with him.”

She tore a bit of bread from her own slice. Soaked in seared rabbit juices, it was delicious. Pity the conversation didn’t complement a dinner under the stars. “You know what he did to King Torygg? The reason for his execution?”

Kaidan nodded. “I wasn’t down in the hole that long. I heard the story.”

“Well, the story’s true. Ulfric…I was on watch with him one night. He’d kept me up for a day and a half. I was so tired. I said something stupid.” She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I didn’t believe, you see. Didn’t believe what he could do. So…he showed me.”

“He used the voice on you?” Kaidan sounded awestruck. He took another bite of bread and swallowed without chewing. “What was it like?”

Selene’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t figured Kaidan one of Ulfric’s worshippers. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the lack of surprise at Ulfric’s execution. Or that he’d been quick to believe Ulfric capable of rape.

“No,” Kaidan said, throwing his hand up, palm out. “No…no, no. I don’t mean that like it sounded. Ulfric’s no better than a racist shitwick. But… _the voice_ —“

Selene snorted. “Ulfric’s a what?”

“Shitwick,” Kaidan said, around another bite of bread. His appetite had definitely returned. “You know, like a wick. Dipped in shit. Drawing shit up, spreading it everywhere. Divines, have you _been_ to Windhelm?”

She shook her head. “I lived in Markarth until a few weeks ago. Not much for traveling.” Alarm bells rang in her head. Why had she said that?

“Then why are you going to Whiterun?” Selene shifted her gaze back down to her dress. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to answer that,” Kaidan said. “Go on with your story, though.”

Where was she? Right. Under the tree in the Rift, watching Ulfric demonstrate exactly what he’d done to King Torygg. “He didn’t hurt me. At least, I don’t think he meant to.” _They’d sooner chop off their hands than take something belonging to the Divines._ Ulfric’s words had reassured her then, but now they chilled her bones. What would he have done to her had she not been so blessed? She rolled her eyes—it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. He wouldn’t have helped to the keep, wouldn’t have helped her escape Helgen if she hadn’t been _useful_. “He said something, like a whisper, and stripped all the leaves and most of the small branches from a tree. And then he pinned me against a tree and held a dagger to my chest. He told me I was useless, and gaudy.”

From useful enough to risk his life for, to a useless bauble in just a few short days.

Kaidan stared, like he was waiting for more. She laughed, softly, and felt a warm blush creep up her chest. “Sounds like the trees got the worst of it, now I say it out loud. Suppose I am a bit useless.” She looked back down at her lap, feeling all the confidence she’d built up after Dibella’s visit draining away.

Kaidan snorted. “You’re not. I wasn’t there with Ulfric. Like to think I’d have punched him senseless, or taken that dagger and made him eat it. But I wasn’t there. But a man Ulfric’s size pulling a weapon on an unarmed woman should be ashamed of himself, no matter if he meant to hurt you or not.” She looked up at him. His eyes glowed over the shadows playing across his face. “And may I remind you, I’d still be in chains if not for you,” he said, and smiled. “You said you tricked the shiny moron into leaving the prison. How’d you do that?”

She took another bite of bread and held out her hand for the bottle. She knew Kaidan was trying to distract her, to make her feel better, even, and she was just tired enough, just heartsick enough, she was willing to let him. “I told him I was running from a bunch of Stormcloaks who wanted to rid Eastmarch of elves,” she said, and took a drink. “It was true enough.”

“That’s all it took?”

“I can be persuasive.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

She smiled around the lip of the bottle. “Hasn’t worked on you. You still haven’t let me finish your healing.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Stubborn ass,” she said, and passed the bottle back.

“True enough,” he said, his deep, earthy voice borrowing her words, her way of speaking. Selene found the effect charming.

“I might have told him he should hide in case the Stormcloaks came down. Told him I didn’t want them to hurt him,” she said, leaving out how she’d used his desire, his shame to suss out that weak point. “He took the bait. Dependable Thalmor arrogance can be useful.”

“Pretty damn clever, to think of that. See? Not useless.”

She smiled weakly. “Tell me the same after we come across our first wolf.”

He huffed. “I can take on a pack. Just be there to mend my scratches without falling asleep.”

“I can do that,” she said, and brushed a few breadcrumbs from her hands and held her palms out. “That’s my story, then. Dragons. Fugitive jarls. Taking advantage of defenseless Thalmor. Rescuing warriors.”

Kaidan grinned at the last. It took a few moments for his smile to fade. He took a long drink. “My turn, I guess.”

“You don’t have to. It can wait.”

“No, it’s fine. Might as well get it out now.” He took another drink. “I’m a bounty hunter. I was tracking a fugitive in Falkreath, camped by the lake when they came for me. I don’t remember anything but lightning…and pain, of course. When I came to, Cyrelian had my sword. Kept looking at the marks on it, asking where I got it. I told him the truth—it was my mother’s, but I didn’t know who she was, so I couldn’t help them. Mind you,” he said, and sniffed, “if I could have helped them, I wouldn’t have.”

Selene nodded. She had no doubt he’d have tried to withstand whatever he could. “You didn’t know your mother?”

He shook his head. “She died when I was a babe. A friend of hers brought me up,” he said, with what sounded like a bitter laugh. “Raised me as his own, Brynjar did. He told me my mother won the sword in a game of dice. But I didn’t believe him.”

“What did you think?”

“I didn’t have any ideas. Just that dicing for a priceless sword didn’t match what else he told me about her—she was brave and beautiful and a warrior. I suppose warriors dice more than the average person, but it was his tone, the way he said it…didn’t fit.” He frowned. “But some of the questions Cyrelian asked shed some light on it. He called my sword a katana. Said it and the style of my armor were associated with enemies of the Dominion. With the Blades, as ridiculous as that sounds.”

“The Blades?” She’d never heard of the Blades. She frowned. “He called your sword a katana? It’s too big to be a katana.”

He rocked back and laughed. “The Blades doesn’t ring a bell, but you know about weaponry?”

“I’ve known lots of warriors,” she said, and cringed a bit at the sound of it. But she caught herself and straightened up—she wasn’t ashamed of who she was, so why act like it? She might not want to tell him exactly, but she didn’t have to hide. Kaidan only grinned. If anything, he looked impressed.

“What would you call it then?”

Selene glanced over her shoulder at the sword leaning against the rocky wall. “Well, it’s shaped like a katana, but anyone could see it’s as long as any polearm. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Nor have I,” Kaidan said, and raised his bottle in a sort-of salute. “Brynjar called it a nodachi.”

Selene mouthed the word. It wasn’t familiar. “What about the Blades?”

Kaidan peeled a grape and popped it in his mouth, and sighed. “I suppose this is the one good thing about Eastmarch. Divines, these are good.” He leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs at the ankle. “We didn’t have access to many books growing up. Moved around too much, no money. Stayed away from cities. So everything I know about weapons and armor and fighting, I learned from Brynjar. He liked to tell stories of the Blades—they were bodyguards to the Septims. Unparalleled warriors. After the Septims died out, they sort of faded. I suppose no one wanted the bodyguards of dead kings to guard them. But there must have been some of them left, because the Thalmor started hunting them down.”

“Sounds like a waste, hunting down a beaten bunch of failed bodyguards, if that’s what they were.” No wonder she’d never heard of them.

“Hmmm, yeah. That’s the question, isn’t it? _Why?_ I mean, the Thalmor always have reasons. Sometimes the reason is…they hate humans, and the Blades have always been humans. Might have been that simple.”

Selene shrugged. It was beyond her. She was much more interested in hearing about Kaidan. He tucked his hair back behind his ear, exposing his tattoo. The idea that there was something sinister behind what she’d seen when she touched it was almost laughable here, by the fire, with full bellies and a wine-soaked buzz. “What’s the story behind that tattoo? Did Brynjar give you that? Some sort of warrior thing?”

It was as though a mask fell down over his face, not a mask of sadness or anger—just, nothing. Blankness. Even the fire seemed dimmer, the wine less potent. She set the bottle down with an audible clink. Kaidan pushed himself to stand and picked up the bedroll they’d taken from the Thalmor guard’s room. He opened it all the way and tossed it on the ground. “Dawn still comes early this far north. With the sun setting so quick, we’d best be ready to rise with it.”

She didn’t push, and tried to ignore her growing unease. He was right, anyway—they were both tired. She picked up the cloaks and tossed them on the bedroll and watched him break the fire, hitting the charred wood with a thick limb until it was nothing but cinders and ash. He gathered up the rabbit bones and stalked out into the woods without a word.

She rose, and paced from one side of the clearing to the other, her hands shaking—there _was_ something to that tattoo. There had to be. But what? She’d never heard of a tattoo that could act as…what? A portal? That was magic beyond her ken. She stood, her heart racing, her arms clasped across her ribs. Or maybe she’d imagined it all, and the tattoo really was nothing. Not nothing to Kaidan. It was obviously very much something—something he didn’t want to talk about. But…something about his mother, maybe, or Brynjar. The man who raised him didn’t seem to be around anymore. That spoke to tragedy. Selene’s mind kept gibbering at her, all the possibilities that didn’t revolve around rivers of fire and thick, choking silence—of course, all _those_ possibilities revolved around Selene losing her mind—and kept it up until Kaidan returned. He stopped next to the fire, still and quiet.

“I’m sorry, sorry I brought it up,” she said, and sat down on the bedroll, clenching the cloak in her fists. “And I know you probably don’t want to be anywhere near me right now, but it’s cold and we only have one bedroll. You’ll be too cold if you stay out there, so I’m sorry. I won’t ask about it again.” She looked up at him, wincing. Her mind wasn’t the only thing gibbering.

He huffed and lowered himself to her side, only flinching a little at what must have been residual pain. She’d finish his healing next morning, no matter his arguments. “No, you’re fine,” he said. “I’m not angry. It’s…part of my past I’d rather not talk about. You’ve got your secrets, right? Let’s just get some sleep.”

She nodded gratefully and lay back against the soft wool. Kaidan stretched out beside her—lucky the Thalmor was so tall, Kaidan might not have fit an ordinary bedroll. She was acutely aware of his body next to hers, the warmth of him, their closeness under the thick cloaks. He shifted, and his elbow bumped hers. “‘Scuse me,” he whispered, and drew it back like he’d touched a bit of flame.

Her body was exhausted, but her brain was too busy to sleep, so she gazed up at the stars. Kaidan was a mystery, and Selene had her fill of mysteries, lately. Reason told her she had no need to fear him—hadn’t he been ready to find Ulfric and beat him senseless when he thought Ulfric had hurt her? He hadn’t faked that, she could tell. Nor had he faked the sweet desire she’d sensed when she’d touched him, and over dinner when he’d pretended to concentrate on the ribbons trimming her neckline. No, he wasn’t a threat. But if he was in danger, she could be, too. As long as she was with him.

She sneaked a glance at him—his eyes were closed, his lips parted. She nudged him—he didn’t react. Asleep already.

She rolled to her side and huffed, plumping her pillow. She’d made the choice to stay with him, secret or no. She hadn’t just saved his life to let him face another danger alone. And he was right, she did have a secret, one she’d gone to great lengths to avoid divulging. But why? She’d told Ulfric. _Yes, and see how that turned out._

She rolled to her other side and closed her eyes. A moment later, they flew open again. _The diary_. Cyrelian’s diary. She’d forgotten to give it to Kaidan. She nudged him again, but he only sighed and unfolded his arms from across his chest, resting them at his sides. Maybe it was the sight of him, peaceful in sleep, but she yawned, and her own eyes fell, heavy and warm. She’d talk to him tomorrow, give him the diary in the morning. Everything would be fine.


	9. Broken Silence and Old Scars

Selene curled up in her warm bed, snuggling into the lavender-scented pillows. A heavy hand slid across her ribs, brushing soft against her breasts. She smiled, and something sweet and molten fluttered low in her belly.

It was a good dream.

She stretched, arching her back, and felt herself drifting up toward wakefulness. A pale gold light shone against her closed eyelids. She opened them, just a crack, and frowned. She was awake—something loud and shrill validated that conclusion, screeching from a nearby tree—but her dream hadn’t faded. She was still warm and comfortable, and what was unmistakably a hand rested, heavy and curved, over her breast.

A quick glance up and around told the tale—she’d slept tucked up against Kaidan like a child’s stuffed toy. She let her eyelids fall again, gentle against her still-tired eyes, and yawned.

And let herself imagine—she and Kaidan weren’t escaping the Dominion, or dragons, or the fugitive jarl of Eastmarch. In fact, they weren’t Selene and Kaidan at all. Just two ordinary people, childhood sweethearts perhaps, just a couple who’d loved each other for years, camping in the wilderness—no secrets, no complications. Of course, she’d wake with her legs curled around his, her head propped on his bicep, nestled in the curve of his neck. And it was only natural that his other hand would rest, molded over the swell of her breast. She smiled—her own hands had found their way under his shirt, toasty against the warmth of his lavender-scented skin.

She sighed, soft and low. Kaidan had been afraid to touch even her elbow last night. She didn’t want to wake him and see the shock on his face when he realized how intimately they were entwined.

And, she desperately had to pee.

Carefully, she slid out from under Kaidan’s arm, and rose. On tiptoe, she crept to the edge of the clearing. The sunrise was lovely, its pale spires streaming behind dark, shadowy trees. She gazed up at spindly, sharp-scented pines, so different from the scrubby junipers of the Reach, or the Rift’s weeping gold birches. Everything was so green, here, even the underbrush gleamed green, with soft moss covering almost every surface. She found a private place to take care of business first, and then, since Kaidan was still asleep, decided to walk a little further into the forest to pray.

She disrobed, allowing the chill morning to wash over her. Despite the earliness of the hour, a beautiful wood under a showy sunrise seemed the perfect spot to honor Dibella. No shrine appeared, and the only place she felt Dibella’s presence was in her own heart, but she knelt and closed her eyes.

When she rose, her knees ached and the pale light had brightened to gold. As expected, a fresh set of clothes waited at her feet. Black shoes and thick stockings made a nice change. She shook out the gown with an arched brow—more red, a dark, delicious garnet. She slipped the heavy silk over her head and laced up the front, tying the apple-green ribbon at her breast. She twirled around— the full skirt just brushed the ground, and it fitted at her waist without being tight. The neckline scooped low, exposing more of her breasts than was probably acceptable in rural Skyrim, but the last time she’d seen a dress like this, she wasn’t in Skyrim at all. Her chest tightened like armor against the memory—her mother standing at the door of their cottage in her own kirtle, one of soft blue wool, waving goodbye as the sleek carriage bore Selene off to her new home. She blinked, and quickly packed the memory away.

She’d already turned back to the clearing when something else caught her eye—more clothing, folded neatly on a flat, mossy rock. But, the finely-woven pine-green tunic and black leggings and undershorts were far too large, and obviously cut with a man in mind. She froze—Dibella told Selene She wouldn’t always walk at her side, but if She’d left clothes for Kaidan…

Selene had poured out her heart during her prayer— every fear, every longing, every dream. Dibella’s gift could be a sign she’d made the right choice in allowing Kaidan to serve as her escort. The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than a hot blush crept up her chest. She rolled her eyes—it did sound silly and juvenile in her head. Next, she’d be wondering if Dibella’d given her the red gown to match Kaidan’s eyes.

She bundled the clothes against her chest and made for their camp. She’d just passed the edge of the rocky overhang when Kaidan stepped into her path. “You shouldn’t go out alone,” he said, his sword resting against his shoulder. Sun gleamed off its ebony blade.

“I, ah…had to—“

“I know,” he said, and grinned. “Look who’s taking too long, now. Are you alright, by the way?”

“How long have you been standing here?”

“I gave you your privacy, no worries. Just wanted to be near. Being surprised by a wolf while you’re answering the call isn’t fun,” he said, and winked. “Trust me, I know.”

She flounced past him, diving for the bedroll and the satchel she’d packed with washcloths and soap. She could pretend that’s where his new clothing came from. She made a production of pulling things out and stuffing them back in. “Here,” she said, “try these on. Might be a better fit.”

He rested his sword against the overhang and accepted the bundle, and shook out the tunic and leggings. He whistled. “This is nice,” he said, and looked down at his ragged outfit. “Where was this yesterday?”

Selene shrugged. “Lot going on yesterday. Must have slipped my mind.”

Kaidan frowned, but seemed to accept it. “I’ll put them on after breakfast.”

Selene sat back, relieved. She couldn’t expect Dibella to provide her with explanations as well as supplies. Everything would be easier if she’d just tell him who she was…but she didn’t want to, and now she knew why. Her dream—no, not a dream, she’d been awake, aware. Her _desire_ washed over her again, that easy warmth and belonging, an ordinary life with no complications. If she told Kaidan who she was, he would no longer see an ordinary woman. And she wanted to be, at least for a while. Not Dibella’s sibyl, not someone touched by destiny.

Not someone who could be _useful_.

She just wanted to be Selene.

“What’s this?”

Kaidan’s sharp question cut through the haze of her thoughts. He crouched by the ashes of their campfire, the other satchel open at his feet. He’d mentioned getting breakfast, but what he held in his hands wasn’t the bread and cheese she’d set aside for their morning meal. Instead, he held a book. Cyrelian’s journal. A sliver of ice slid up her spine.

“Why were you hiding this?” He snapped the diary shut. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? Too much for me to bear? I’m no weakling, Selene. And I’ve been through worse. You had no right to keep it from me.”

“That’s not what I thought at all. I-I didn’t even read it, just the first page, enough to know what it was. I packed it up and…forgot about it,” she said with an embarrassed shrug.

He huffed. “You forgot? You listened to me talk about this last night, wondering why they took me, and you forgot?”

“I forgot about the clothes.”

“This isn’t a pretty tunic, Selene,” he said, and rose. “This is a month of my life, and a bit of my sanity besides.”

“I did remember it late last night, after you’d already gone to sleep. But you needed your rest, I didn’t want to wake you. I swear,” she said, running a hand through her hair, close to her scalp. She squeezed her hand into a fist, pulling at her curls. “If I hadn’t thought you should read it, I would have left it behind.”

“Maybe you took it for another reason.” He stared at her. “Maybe there’s someone in Whiterun who might want to see it. And me. Is that why we’re headed that way?”

Selene’s hands dropped to her lap. Tears blurred her vision, and her voice sounded very small to her own ears. “That’s not what you think of me, Kaidan. Is it?”

He stared another moment or two, and slowly shook his head. He gave the diary another glance before shoving it into the satchel and storming off into the woods. Again.

Selene sat, frozen to the spot. The accusation was nothing but a desperate grasp. He’d said the words, and the words still cut, but his heart wasn’t in it. But the truth was, she didn’t know what effect the last month had on his psyche, his perception. _I’ve been through worse than this,_ he’d said, and Selene believed him. But what could possibly be worse? She wiped her eyes and started packing everything up, leaving out the bread and cheese and jazbay. By the time he came back, still angry, but calmer, and distractingly handsome in the new clothes she’d given him, she was sitting on the packed up-bedroll, ready to go.

“Good, you’re ready. I’ll put on my armor and we can be going,” he said, nodding at the bread and cheese in her lap. “We can eat on the road.”

* * *

They’d finally found the road overlooking the White River, and Kaidan was glad of it. They’d get to Whiterun sooner, and he’d be rid of her. He hadn’t figured he’d feel that way earlier that morning when he’d awakened, entangled with her like a warm pastry wrapped around some sort of sweet, delicious filling. His stomach growled—their paltry breakfast had burned off hours ago.

Selene had crept out of bed believing him still asleep, but not before he knew exactly where her hands were and where his hands were and how good it all felt. He was right, that dress was warm and soft under his hands. And so was she. He’d planned to apologize to her, when he’d met her on her way back from the woods. Apologize for the way he’d snapped at her when she asked about his tattoo. He didn’t like to talk about it. Most days, he could pretend it wasn’t there at all, but yesterday hadn’t been most days—it had burned against his skin more than usual, and he hadn’t handled the reminder well.

But she’d come back blushing and lovely, and he remembered her warm body and soft skin, and every word that made sense had flown out of his head. So, he’d apologize later, he figured, after he made her breakfast—some of that cheese would melt nice over the still-hot ashes of their fire—and then keep his hair down, hide the damned tattoo. Maybe she’d forget all about it. He’d been rummaging in her pack to get food for their breakfast when he found it—the journal.

He’d known by the look on her face she was telling the truth—she’d forgotten about it, just like she said. But by then, he’d gone too far. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it, not to her. It was just…the idea she considered him too weak, or _traumatized_ , as she’d say, to look at words on a page without breaking down—that shame wouldn’t go away. And the truth of it, the shame of it was—he was weak. Always had been. Not that anyone could have fought off those Thalmor, or escaped their chains without help. He was practical enough to admit that. No, his weakness came from trusting the wrong people, like he trusted Selene without knowing the first thing about her. He trusted too fast and he’d come away burned—last time, more than most. By a woman he’d thought he loved, too.

“Kaidan.”

Selene’s frantic whisper broke through his funk. She’d tried to talk to him on the road, in the hours since they’d left their campsite, but he’d shut her down each time, and eventually she stopped trying. But now she faced him with fear plain on her face. She motioned toward the dense forest up the embankment on her left. He stopped and listened.

Underbrush rustled, and a low growl sounded, not more than ten feet away. He pulled his sword and threw down the scabbard. “Get behind me.” He pointed toward a boulder on the other side of the road. “Up on that. Here,” he said, and handed her his dagger. “Just in case.”

He watched her climb up and turned back to the woods. Didn’t sound like anything big, but despite his bravado last night, a pack of wolves might prove challenging. More crunching, and a low growl, and then two gray wolves bounded onto the road. He heard Selene gasp when they rushed him, one on either side. “Stay there, I’ve got this.”

He yelled and kicked with the flat of his boot at the one on his right, and spun around, swinging down at the one on his left. His sword hit flesh and bone, and the wolf whined. He pulled away and struck again. It stayed down. He turned and backed up in one smooth motion and rather than wait for the wolf he’d kicked away to rush him, he charged it, plunging his sword into flesh just behind the beast’s head.

He stood, watching the wolf fall to the ground, his sword curved out from his side, and waited to see if more would come. None did. He sighed. Skyrim wolves were dumb and stubborn—why would one, or even two eighty-pound animals with no poison or specialized defense mechanisms attack a nearly seven-foot tall, fully armored man wielding a blade nearly as long?

He wiped his sword off on the wolf’s fur and listened to Selene sliding down from the boulder. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her head cocked to one side. “What in the world was that?”

Kaidan blinked. “I…killed the wolves. What do you mean?”

“And I appreciate it,” she said, nodding. “But that yell at the beginning, what was that? It was terrifying.”

He shrugged and tightened his jaw to fight off a smile. “Just something I’ve always done. Annoyed the piss out of Brynjar. Maybe I thought when I was young, that yelling would scare whoever I was fighting away. Dunno. Feels natural, I guess.”

“It did scare them. The one you kicked ran off for a bit. I thought he was gone for good,” she said, looking for all the world like a hopeful puppy, unsure whether the person standing over her was going to pet her or kick her to the ground.

Kaidan just planned to stay out of her way. “Good,” he said, and started down the road again.

Her footsteps shuffled behind him on the cobbles. “Kaidan.”

He didn’t answer. _Just keep walking_. “Long way to Whiterun, princess. Better keep up.”

Metal clinked on stone. “Kaidan!”

“What?” He turned around to see his dagger spinning on the ground, and Selene stepping through the green, weedy brush on the river side of the road. “What are you doing?” She didn’t answer, just balanced one hand against a thick cedar, and stepped down toward the gently flowing water. “Come on, Selene. You’re going to get hurt.”

“No,” she snapped, and threw her pack behind her. “I’m crossing the river, I’ll follow it on the other side, and get to Whiterun on my own.”

“What? Why would you do that?” Ice flickered up his spine. “That water is freezing.”

“Well, enjoy the image of me cold and miserable while you’re doing your brooding warrior act all over Skyrim,” she said, dipping the tip of her boot in the water.

Brooding warrior. Of all the asinine things. “And, why do you think I’d enjoy that?”

She wheeled around to face him. “I’m miserable enough, now, all this silence. Ulfric was awful to me, but I think the worst thing about traveling with him was that no one would speak to me. It was like they pretended I wasn’t there, like I was a ghost. I can’t go through that again, not…not with you.” She said that last in a small, hurt voice that twisted at his heart.

He sighed and walked into the underbrush. Funny how similar this drama had played out in his mind, last night by the fire. “You know I’ll jump in there after you. We’ll be wet and miserable together.”

She lifted her chin up. Even standing on low ground, two feet shorter than him, she still managed to look down her nose at him. “Or you could stop ignoring me. Then, we might be happy together.”

Kaidan closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. She was right, he couldn’t keep ignoring her all the way to Whiterun—two, maybe three days more. If Selene was threatening to jump in a river now, who knows what she’d do by then. And he didn’t like to admit it, but the morning had been nothing but shit, holding her at arm’s length. He didn’t want to do it any longer. 

_We might be happy together._

Not a chance. But so what? So what if she ended up hurting him? Maybe he deserved it, part of his penance.

“Fine,” he said, shoving his past back where it belonged and picking up Selene’s pack. “Just come here, you, and we’ll find a place to stop and eat. I think we both could use a break.” Her smile lit up the forest, and he couldn’t help but return it.

He didn’t have to wait long for the perfect place. The road curved to the north, not long after that, and started to rise around a waterfall splashing over smooth, glassy rock. Trees shaded a small, sandy cove on the riverbank. “Kaidan, look!” Selene let out a deep sigh and bumped against his elbow. “Gorgeous.”

He could tell she wanted to stop. He did too. He led her down the slippery embankment and settled her on a large, flat rock. Everything smelled like moss and icy water and damp earth. After being in that stinking hole, not seeing sky for a month, it felt like a paradise.

“This reminds me a bit of the waterfall in Markarth,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Just without all the stone. I like this one better.”

“Aye,” he said. “I could do without stone walls. No walls at all, if I can get away with it, and I have for most of my years.”

She studied him, watching him swing his pack down from his shoulder and open it up. “How many years? How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” he said, handing her half a loaf of bread and cheese and the last of the jazbay. He’d have to hunt soon. “How about you?”

“Twenty-two,” she said, and tightened up her lips a bit like she was stopping herself from saying more.

“What is it?”

“Where are you from? I’m not trying to pry.” She looked a little scared, and Kaidan cursed himself again for his outburst about his tattoo, the book, giving her the silent treatment. She was walking on eggshells around him, and that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault he was a…what did she call it…a brooding warrior. “There’s something about your accent. _Me sword_ , you say. And _knoow_ instead of know. _Yuhhs_ instead of years. There’s something familiar, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Kaidan grinned and hoped it didn’t come across too wolfy. He’d just have to be a bit nicer, as strange as it felt. “I’m from here in Skyrim, born here at least. Brynjar said somewhere near Riften, pretty cryptic about it, just like he was about everything else.” He laughed at her crestfallen expression. “But I only lived here until I was about seven, then we skipped out to High Rock.”

Her smile returned. “I was born in High Rock! Outside Camlorn, a tiny little village. Whereabouts did you live?”

“I thought you said you were from Markarth.”

“I came to Markarth when I was twelve.”

“Ah,” he said. “Is your family in Markarth, still?”

“They stayed in High Rock.” She rested her chin on her knees and picked at something on her skirt. “Haven’t seen them since.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. For a woman as soft-hearted as Selene, who craved companionship as much as she did—and she’d have to, to threaten to throw herself in the river over it—for someone like her to go ten years without seeing her family, something bad had to have happened. “Do you miss them? Ah, I suppose that’s a daft question. Unless…”

“No, they’re alive. And fine, last I heard. It’s just complicated.”

“Life usually is.” Kaidan studied her. Her eyes seemed to be a little bright, but not teary. As well, there was something different…he snapped his fingers. “That’s another new dress,” he said. Couldn’t believe he was just noticing it. Still the same red, but a rougher weave and a poofier skirt, and green trim rather than black.

“It reminds me of something my mother used to wear,” she said, playing with the ribbon and drawing his eyes down for a second. “But you were telling me where you lived in High Rock?”

“All over,” he said, and laughed at the roll of her eyes. And used the loss of eye contact to look down again. “I’m getting there. You have to be patient.” He settled beside her on the flat rock and took the bottle of wine from the pack. “Yeah, we moved a lot. But Betony, that’s where we stayed the longest.”

Selene made a funny noise, a mix between a sigh and that hissing sound you make when you stub your toe or scrape a knee. “I knew I recognized that accent. We took a trip to Betony when I was ten. Not the main island, a little one to the north.”

“That’s the one. It was remote enough, just a little fishing village and lots of forest, and Brynjar thought we’d be safe there.”

“Safe from what?”

His stomach growled, loud enough he heard it over the waterfall. Selene did, too. She laughed and picked up the food she’d set on the rock. She broke off most of the bread and half the cheese and passed it to him. He didn’t touch it. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“You’re a lot bigger than me,” she said, “and you’ve been starving. Don’t worry, if I’m still hungry, there’s more cheese.”

Kaidan gratefully took the food, a little shamefaced he’d misjudged her. She was obviously a lady, given her voice and her clothes, and from hoity-toity Camlorn, or close enough. He’d had little experience with nobles, and all that experience had been bad. But her life had been far from trauma-free, and the only thing she’d fussed about was him keeping too much distance. “Let me know if you are. Bound to be apple trees up the road, in season.”

“I will. Anyway, my father had a friend, a fisherman on the little island. He told us they’d been isolated there for so long, their accent never changed, like everyone else’s did.”

“Ever hear them talk in Rivenspire? Straight up gibberish, that is.”

“Never been there.” She sighed, and pressed her cheese into the middle of her bread and took a bite. “What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?”

“Hard to say. There was a place in northern Hjaalmarch. A cave, by the Sea of Ghosts. Hard to get there without freezing your arse off,” he said, and closed his eyes. He could almost see it—Brynjar’s heavy hand ruffling the ice clinging to his hair as he complained about the cold. _Learn patience, lad_. But, he never had. “But it’s nice inside. There’s a hole up top let in the sun. Waterfalls, and a pool clear as glass. Must have been a spring below— the water was warm. Like a haven, it was, if you didn’t upset the spriggans.”

“I wish I could see something like that,” she said and smiled. “This is nice, too, right here.” She polished off her bread and cheese, brushed off her hands, and got on her knees behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a little healing—“

He tried to squirm out of her reach. “No, we can’t.“

“It won’t be like yesterday,” she said, and it took Kaidan a moment to for her words to sink in—yesterday, when she’d healed him in the prison. _Yesterday_. How had they only met yesterday? “I’m going to rub your shoulders, and let a tiny bit of warmth sink into your skin. I do this all the time, it won’t hurt either of us at all. You can even keep eating.”

He didn’t want her tired, but his back and shoulders did ache. “Alright, but if you—“

“If I feel tired, I’ll stop. Now take off that armor.” Kaidan put his wine and food on the rock and did as he was told, unhooking his pauldrons and letting Selene lift his cuirass over his head. “Will you talk to me, while I work?”

He nodded. “What about?” Selene’s hands slid over his shoulders and worked at the laces of his tunic. Her fingers brushed his skin, and something trembled, low in his belly. “That needs to come off, too?”

“You’ll thank me, I promise,” she said, and the tunic followed his armor, over his head. She flipped his hair over his shoulder and gasped, a tiny, breathy sound. He looked up in surprise, glancing around for a fox or even another wolf that might have sneaked up behind them. But there was nothing. “Kaidan,” she whispered.

And then, he remembered.

He’d not seen his own back in years, and no one else had either. So he’d nearly forgotten the ugly, puffed scars covering the breadth of it, stretching from his neck to his hip. Shame washed him in a cold sweat. He shook his hair back and shoved his arms back in his sleeves. “You don’t have to—“

“Don’t be ridiculous. Kaidan, I…” she trailed off, her voice shaking. She let out a long exhale. Her breath tickled the skin on his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me.”

“No. And you don’t need to—“

He tried to pull away, but she reached around his shoulder and snatched the tunic from his grasp, dropping it in a puddle by her knees. “Yes, I do,” she said, her voice still shaking. He craned his neck to look her in the face. He wasn’t weak. He didn’t need her pity. He didn’t—

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said, anger seething through her voice and shocking him—even his thoughts—to silence. It shuddered over her face, darkening her green eyes like a storm over a forest. “You’ve been through hell, I know. I can’t heal your back, and I’m sorry for that. The scars are too old. But I can help, and I will.”

Before Kaidan could say another word, Selene touched him. Her skin burned hot, like sun-kissed stones on a summer day, and she slowly slid her hands from the small of his back up to his shoulders. “Now talk to me,” she said, the storm in her voice not letting up a bit.

“Selene, I—“

“I find what happened to you distasteful, Kaidan. Not you,” she said, her hands moving to his upper arms. “Please, no more arguments.” She took another deep breath. “Talk to me. Tell me about the voice. You seemed to know something about that, last night. How did the Greybeards end up on top of the mountain?”

Kaidan squeezed his eyes shut, and swallowed hard. A stronger man might have resisted her, but he’d lost the battle, it seemed, the moment her hands touched his skin. Why she wanted to know about the Greybeards, he had no idea. But at this point, he wasn’t fit to argue. “All I know is what Brynjar told me. But it didn’t really make sense.”

“Why?”

She gently kneaded the base of his neck. Kaidan sighed. “So, the ancient Nords, thousands of years ago—“

“The story starts thousands of years ago?”

He managed a quiet laugh. “When a Nord tells a story, you have to have patience, woman.”

“Are you a Nord?”

“No. But Brynjar was,” he said, and waited for another argument. Or worse, a question about what, exactly, he was. None came. “So, the ancient Nords worshipped dragons, for reasons that are probably obvious to you, now that you’ve seen one. The dragons became tyrants—“

“Also obvious,” she said, her fingers working up his neck to the back of his head. He smiled a little, at the pleasure her fingers brought him and at their easy back and forth. It shouldn’t have been easy, given his accusations, her attempt to throw herself in the river, and the horror of his back staring them both in the face.

“—and the Nords rose up against them. But ferocious as those old Nords were, they were only human. So on top of the mountain—Snow Throat—Kyne taught them the weapon of dragons—the voice. The words dragons use to make fire or ice or…” Kaidan hissed as Selene’s fingers pushed against a particularly sore spot at the base of his neck.

“Burning rocks, falling from the sky,” Selene finished for him. “I’ve seen that, too. Kyne—I’ve known Nord warriors to mention Her, rather than Kynareth.”

“They’ve sort of mashed them together, but missed the mark, in my opinion. Kyne was part of the old Nord religion—Brynjar followed it—Goddess of the Storm, patron of war. Supposedly created the first humans on top of the mountain, too.”

“Is that why the monks have their monastery there?”

“It’s a holy place.” Kaidan nodded and leaned into her hands. Her sunshine-scented hair brushed against his face, and he leaned into that, too. “Long story short, the ancient Nords used the voice to defeat the dragons on that very mountain.”

“Busy mountain.” Selene shrugged. The fabric of her dress snagged the rough skin of his back. “Sounds like an interesting legend.”

“Don’t believe it?”

She shrugged again. “I’m no stranger to legend, or what people think of as legend. But there must be more to it. A weapon like that, one that can defeat dragons, could be used to win wars, conquer the world. Why is Ulfric the only person who knows how to use it?”

Kaidan laughed. “I asked the same thing, only then I didn’t know about Ulfric. I thought no one could use it anymore. But yeah, why did Nords let that sort of knowledge slip through their fingers? Doesn’t make sense.”

“What did Brynjar tell you?”

“That it took years to learn. Kyne might have made shorter work of it, but the monks who live on the mountain? You have to study under them for years. I’ve never known a Nord who’s that long on patience.”

“Ulfric is.” Selene’s hands stilled. “Kaidan. Something you said earlier—you stayed on Betony because Brynjar thought you’d be safe there. Safe…from what?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, stifling a moan when her hands resumed their work. “Wish I did. The only thing I can figure is he had enemies, and somewhere like that little island was the last place they’d look.”

“Hmm...” Her fingers worked deeper into his muscles, and her hands burned a little hotter.

He winced. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice bright and clear. “This is nothing compared to what I did yesterday. I had to mend bone, knit back together tendons and blood vessels, and every organ in your torso was bruised and bleeding. I can soothe sore muscles in my sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

_Yesterday._

The prison. The diary. 

He was going to have to read Cyrelian’s diary soon. He had to, if it might hold clues to why he’d been taken, why they’d kept him alive for a month just to talk about his mother’s sword. He would read it after they stopped for the night. While supper cooked. If it was as bad as he feared, he’d just drown himself in wine and go to sleep. But that was hours away, yet.

He took a deep breath and clasped Selene’s hands in his own. “I owe you an apology. For walking out on you last night, for accusing you this morning, for making you feel…like a ghost. I, ah, might be having trouble dealing with all this. It’s no excuse, I know. But I don’t want you to leave. And I’ll try to do better.”

Selene didn’t say anything for a moment, then she slid her hands out from under his, and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice sounded a little choked. “I don’t want to leave, either.”

Kaidan barely breathed, and tried to keep what little hope he had left in his weary heart at bay. He was an escort, a means to an end. As soon as they reached Whiterun, she’d be done with him, heading back to her complicated life in Markarth. And even if she did feel something for him, some sort of friendship, some sort of bond, well…they were both alone and scared and unsure of the future. Bonds forged out of desperation didn’t last, and Kaidan didn’t expect it to. After all, Selene gave him gift after gift, and all he had to offer her was an apology. It seemed to be all he had to offer anyone.


	10. Promises Made

“Hey, you have to see this!”

The fat rabbit Kaidan had his eye on bolted, scampering down the embankment and disappearing under a rock by the river. Kaidan lowered his bow with a sigh and tried to keep his temper. There would be other rabbits. Whiterun Hold seemed to be overrun with the fuzzy creatures. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What is it?”

“No,” Selene called from the road, excitement bubbling up through her voice, “Come look!”

Selene had been spinning like a top since they’d finally risen from the mists of the Rift Valley and headed west toward Whiterun—asking a blue million questions about everything they passed, from Snow Throat to a herd of mammoth, to the alchemical properties of different types of tree bark. As if he were a bloody travel guide, and a mage besides. 

She’d begged to explore caves and abandoned shacks full of rusty farm equipment and once, a ramshackle tower that turned out to be infested with brigands. Kaidan had gone for his sword, but Selene convinced the door guard to let them leave quietly as long they told no one what a pushover she was.

“Does sweet talk work all the time for you, then?” He’d asked, sheathing his sword with more than a little relief. He could have taken on a dozen brigands, sure, taken on the lot and survived to tell the tale, but he had to admit he wasn’t in the mood.

“Maybe,” she said, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye with a little crooked smile. “You’re still walking me to Whiterun, right?”

Yes, he was. And the three days since she’d almost left him had been the longest of his life.

He’d even caught her chasing torchbugs at dusk last night while he’d set up camp, not paying a bit of attention to the pond she’d nearly stumbled into. Even then, she’d pronounced the giant mudcrab pacing around the stagnant pit _cute_.

“Don’t kill it,” she’d said, when he’d reached for his sword. She perched on a rock at the edge of the pond and watched the crab lurch from side to side, beating its claws against its shell.

“I won’t, unless it needs killing.”

She arched a brow. “Are we going to eat it?”

Kaidan pulled a face. “Do you want to eat something that eats mud?”

“No, so why kill it? It’s not going to chase us,” she said, leaning over with her hands braced on her knees. “We can just walk away. After we’ve watched it dance.”

It made him wonder more and more what sort of upbringing she’d had, the way she marveled about every damned thing. Her fascination with Snow Throat, he understood. Mudcrabs and tree bark, not so much.

Kaidan trudged back up the embankment. Selene stood just off the road, her head tipped back and those soft curls swinging past her shoulders. She’d shaded her eyes and was gazing up at the top of a steep incline to the south. Kaidan squinted at what caught her attention—from a distance, it looked like a giant sculpture of some sort of animal head resting on top of a crumbling stone wall.

Another ruin, and different from the usual Nord and Imperial monstrosities rotting all over Skyrim, but it wouldn’t matter—Selene couldn’t walk past one without exploring. They’d spent their dinner break in a Nord ruin, day before yesterday. Just a little round skeleton of a room not too far from the road, the decayed walls and dome-like roof leaving it open to the noonday sun. Selene had dragged him around every inch of it.

“Look around with me,” she’d said, turning over rocks and broken crates, riffling around in damp patches of grass with a long stick. “We might find treasure.”

He’d snorted and kicked at a mud-encrusted bottle. “All I see is trash, and grass growing where a floor should be, and a rotted campfire. Any treasure’s long gone.” But the mention of a campfire already had her on the move. And damn him if she didn’t find something—an old leather pack half-buried under the ashes. There was a ring inside—tarnished silver and sapphire—and a mildewed note Selene had kept, tucked gently into the pocket of her dress. He didn’t know why she’d kept it, or why her eyes got misty when she unfolded it and smoothed it out. Any writing on it had long since faded. 

She circled around the space, running her hands over the ancient stones, tracing runes and spiral carvings with her fingers. Asking daft questions. “Who do you think lived here?”

“Nords,” Kaidan had answered, and shrugged.

“But who? Someone’s mother, someone’s daughter? Maybe a Nord girl played games here. Painted. Learned to use a sword. Grew up, and watched her own children do the same things,” she’d mused with a faraway look on her face, sliding down a rough marble pedestal to sit cross-legged in the grass.

Kaidan had crouched at her side, handing her slices of bread and rabbit meat left over from breakfast. “Whoever it was, their lives were most likely brutal and short,” he said, and laughed at her glare. “Honestly, Selene, what does it matter? All this stuff, that satchel and ring. All the…what ifs. The people you’re mooning over have been dead and gone for a long time.”

She layered the meat in between slices of bread and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s what makes it so sad.”

“That’s how life works.”

“People fell in love here. They baked bread, told stories, mended scratches on their children’s knees. Right here. And now they’re gone. Centuries ago, where we’re sitting,” she said, waving her dinner in his direction, “another woman might have eaten rabbit stuffed in bread and tried to convince some stubborn man of her point, thinking she had all the time in the world.”

He snorted. “Sounds about right.”

“And we’ll be gone too, one day.” She sighed and gazed up at the dome, watching wispy moss sway in the breeze. “I feel like I’m walking in their shadows. Like some part of them is still here.”

Kaidan stopped chewing. “You mean, like ghosts?”

“No. More like footprints,” she said, looking up at him with a wistful smile. His heart flip-flopped. “Or knowing someone’s there, behind a closed door. Just in the next room.”

_Just in the next room._

A shrill whoop and a laugh brought him back to the sunny road. He blinked. Selene locked eyes with him, and then started up the hill at a run, the full skirt of her ebony gown gathered in her fists. Kaidan grinned. “Wait,” he called, and stowed his bow and picked up his sword and pack. “Wait, you damned impatient woman!”

“Race you!” She called over her shoulder. More laughter rang down the slope, and he couldn’t help but join in. Higher and higher they ran. Wind whipped his hair around his face, and the sharp, sweet smells of wild onions and grass stung his nostrils. His legs burned and his lungs burned and his shoulder ached as he pumped his arms.

And he’d never felt better.

Selene wasn’t a fast runner, even in the sturdy boots she’d finally started wearing. Kaidan caught up to her in no time, and easily slipped out of her grasp when she grabbed the pack on his back, trying to slow him down. “You don’t like to play fair, do you?” He said, and smirked when she joined him inside the curve of the walls, huffing for breath and sitting limply down on an old crate next to the remains of another long-dead fire. He gazed back down the hill. Could do worse for a campsite, if you didn’t mind being exposed to the road. Nice view of the river. And the high walls would keep out most of the wind.

“If I’d been playing to my strengths,” she said, glaring at him playfully, “trust me, you’d have carried me up here.”

 _I can be persuasive,_ she’d said the night they met, her eyes liquid dark in the shadows of their fire. Kaidan still didn’t doubt her one bit.

“So,” he said, leaning against the edge of the wall, “what do you think of this one?”

Kaidan watched her pace slowly around the edges of the broken tile floor, her eyes scanning the ruin with the air of a scholar. He tried to see it through her eyes—to see the beauty in it—as he’d tried to see everything since they’d started traveling together. It was a strange feeling, like flexing a muscle he’d not used in a while. Or standing on his feet again after a month in chains. He’d come back to Skyrim two years ago, grieving from heartache and recovering from more tangible injuries—the ruin of his back was just a souvenir. He’d kept his head down and avoided authorities and made enough coin to stay alive. The world had existed for him in shades of gray, and for the most part, it still did.

He wouldn’t call this pile of rock beautiful. Nearly as tall and big around as the brigand’s tower they’d escaped, it was set deep into the side of the hill, its walls a pale stone half-circle covered in lines of scratch marks and moldering carvings. And perched atop the wall was the statue he’d seen from the road. A bird of prey, it looked to be, just its head, glaring down at them with cold, flinty eyes. It was majestic. Eerie, certainly.

But he knew exactly what Selene would say, and he mouthed the words along with her. “It’s perfect.”

“The stone shimmers a little in the sun. What sort of rock does that? It’s beautiful,” she continued, backing up to the edge of the tile, and further still, into the grass. She shaded her eyes and looked up. “I think it looks like a memorial. Maybe a monument to something. A battle, maybe.”

He yawned and slid the crate over, against the wall. It creaked under his weight as he leaned back, his sword resting across his thighs. But it would hold long enough. “Right at home in Skyrim, then.”

Her laugh was soft, soothing, as was the sun and warm breeze against his face. He blinked once, and again, his heavy eyelids staying shut a little longer each time. Selene knelt in the grass at the edge of the tile, running a reverent hand over the broken mess. Her honey-brown skin glowed in the sun, and one shining curl drifted over her shoulder to brush the swell of her breast. He closed his eyes to the memory of their afternoon by the waterfall—her arms wrapped around him, her hands clasped over his chest, her breasts and cheek soft against the broken mess of his back.

After he’d swallowed his pride and apologized for being an ass, they’d traveled in such easy company he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to travel without a…a companion? A friend? Kaidan wasn’t sure what label to use—he’d never had a friend. He was no stranger to lust, though, and he did _want_ Selene. But it was more than that, something he’d not been able to work out. All he knew was if the last three days had been the longest of his life, it wasn’t because Selene wanted to look at every crab and butterfly and flower they passed. It was because she hadn’t touched him since.

And because he’d spent the last three days coming to the realization that he’d apologize again, over and over. He’d devote his life to nothing but penance, if only she’d touch him again.

“ _Kaidan_.”

His eyes flew open. Her tone was one of surprise. Shock, even. He was up from the crate and at her side in two strides, scanning the hill for beasts or thieves, or worse. But the road was empty, the hill nothing but an expanse of waving grass. “What is it?”

“Look!” She grinned up at him, oblivious to his alarm and what had to be a warm, red flush over his neck and face. “I didn’t see it ‘til I backed away—it’s too big to see close up—but…aren’t the markings on the wall a little like the markings on your sword?” She gestured just below the bird’s crumbling beak.

“What?”

“Look at the wall. The marks on your sword,” she said, gesturing to it clenched in his fist. Her eyes crinkled. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and pulled his sword from its scabbard. Selene had studied it over the past few nights, holding it in her lap near the fire. She’d noticed a few of the scratches—designs, she’d called them—seemed to repeat, some more than others. Even if they did turn out to be designs rather than random marks, though, Kaidan couldn’t imagine what business those scrawlings had out in the wilderness, on an ancient monument.

But he stood beside her and looked up. The sky was so blue, so glaring, it made his eyes water, but when his vision cleared, the darker—probably moss-filled—carvings stood out against the weathered stone. He held the blade at eye level. The marks on the wall looked like they’d been made by digging deep into the stone and dragging downward—heavy at the top of each stroke and tapered at the end, and arranged around smaller, circular pits. The marks on his sword weren’t carved so deep, but he couldn’t deny the similarity.

But how? And by the Nine, why?

As a lad, he’d looked on his mother’s sword with wonder, his hand grasping the leather-wrapped hilt, tracing the scratches with a finger. He’d tried to imagine what sort of warrior would scratch up a perfectly good blade. He never had the marks buffed away, but not because he thought they meant anything.

Goose bumps erupted over his neck and back. After Brynjar died, he’d stopped thinking of his mother at all—grieving the both of them was too much. But if he’d stumbled upon some sort of clue to who she might have been, and maybe, why she’d died before he’d had the chance to know her… _Your mother died too young, lad,_ Brynjar had mumbled over his mead. Too much mead _. And left it to me to make sure you don’t._

He squinted down at his sword and put the old man out of his mind. One _design_ seemed to show up more than the rest—two dots centered over a short line, angled out to the left. “Selene,” he said, looking up, “look at this. I—“

But she was no longer by his side. She’d climbed atop the crate and stood staring at the wall, her hands hanging limp at her sides. He slid his sword back into its scabbard and set it down. That crate had cracked under his weight. Selene might be lighter, but still. “Selene,” he called, but she didn’t let on she’d heard. “Hey, Selene, that crate won’t hold much longer,” he said a little louder, his boots thumping on the tile. When he reached her side, he stilled—his breath caught in his lungs. A prickle of unease ran up his spine.

She wasn’t just studying the wall—her eyes were locked onto it, unblinking. Her lips moved, forming what looked like words, but made no sound. He cleared his throat and gently rested his hand on the curve of her back. “Selene? You alright?”

She tipped her head to one side. “Do you hear that?” Her voice hummed with a strange, singsong quality that quelled the relief he felt when she’d answered him.

“I don’t hear anything,” he said. “Just the wind, and the river.”

“No,” she said, “not that. Music. And fire…” Her voice trailed off with a sigh.

The crate creaked as she slowly pushed herself up on her toes. Kaidan looked down in alarm and took her hand in his. “Why don’t you come down,” he coaxed. But she shook out of his grip and stretched her arm up, smacking her palm against the wall, her fingertips hooked in the cavity of the lowermost marking.

Kaidan cursed under his breath, the feeling of unease growing sharper. She stood there, trembling, for a stretch of several heartbeats. And then, she stiffened from her neck to her toes—her back rigid, her head thrown back, her fingers shaking with the effort of hanging on to the wall.

Her eyes closed and her lips moved faster. Kaidan leaned in close, but could make out nothing but the soft whisper of her breath. He frowned, and fear flared in his chest—this went far beyond studying some old carvings. Whatever was happening to Selene—a seizure, perhaps, or some sort of fit—he’d never seen its like.

“Selene?”

She swayed a little and might have wavered on her toes, but otherwise…nothing.

“Selene,” he said again, fighting to keep his voice steady, “I’m going to put my arms around you, and pick you up. Carry you somewhere to get help.” He had no idea if she’d even heard him at all. But it didn’t matter—if he had to carry her all the way to Whiterun, stiff as a board over his back, that’s what he’d do. He took a deep breath, his hands brushed her waist, and Selene let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Kaidan stared at her, dumbstruck, and let her go. But she didn’t stop—if anything, her voice grew louder, more piercing. Panic stole his breath as well as every rational thought in his head but one—he had to get Selene away from that wall. But he’d no sooner moved his hands back toward her waist than her scream broke off with a gasp, and she slumped, her body completely limp. Kaidan flung his arms around her, catching her just before the crate splintered and collapsed under her dead weight.

“Fuck,” Kaidan muttered, and carried her out of the circle, laying her gently on the grass. He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse below the curve of her jaw…and sighed in chest-crushing relief, sinking back on his shins. Her heart beat strong, her chest rose and fell, and she had plenty of color in her cheeks—too much, perhaps.

But she was _alive_.

“Selene,” he whispered, brushing a curl back from her forehead. “Wake up for me, eh?” He brushed the back of his fingers down her temple to her jaw. _Please, wake up._

Her eyelids fluttered and slowly blinked open. Kaidan held his breath, watching her gaze drift from one side to the other before she finally focused on him. “Kaidan?”

He nodded, letting his breath leave his lungs in a long, ragged exhale. She was awake, and talking. She knew who he was. “You scared the shit out of me, Selene. I thought I’d…” _Lost you. Hurt you._ Kaidan shivered and swallowed his fear. She was fine. She had to be.

She stretched her neck from side to side and ruffled the grass under her fingers. “What happened? Why am I on the ground?”

Kaidan inclined his head toward the wall. “You climbed up on the crate to touch the carvings, and you fainted.” He left out the part about talking to herself and going stiff and screaming when he’d touched her—he didn’t want to scare her into another episode. Selene tried to sit up, and moaned, holding her hands to her head. “Whoa,” Kaidan said. “Take it easy. I caught you before you hit the ground, but you still had a bit of a spill.” He hooked an arm around her shoulders and guided her up. “How are you feeling?”

Selene swallowed and crossed her legs, resting her elbows on her knees. “Weird. A little shaky.”

He reached for his pack, rummaging in it until he found his waterskin. “Here. Drink,” he said, and waited until she’d drunk her fill. She held the waterskin in her lap, her eyes still a little unfocused. Kaidan thought she looked lost. “Do you remember touching the wall? You said something about music and…fire.” He pictured her unblinking eyes and fluttering lips. “It looked a little like you fell into…well, sort of a trance.”

“Fire? No,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “I remember the carvings glowing a little, sparkling in the sun. And then...” She gave a weak shrug and gestured with her palms. It only made her look more lost. Fragile.

Kaidan frowned. He had no idea what happened; he couldn’t see into her mind. And if Selene couldn’t explain it, they’d have a hard time making sure it didn’t happen again. He started to push himself up from the grass, when he noticed Selene’s eyes widen, just for a moment, before she dropped her gaze to her lap.

“What is it? Do you remember something?”

Her shoulders rose and fell, deep and steady, for several moments before she looked up at him. “No. Kaidan, honestly. I’ll be fine,” she said, a serene smile curving her lips. “People do faint when they’re hungry. Maybe that’s what happened.”

“Of course,” he said with a clipped nod, his mind racing. “Well, let’s get you fed, then.” He kept an eye on her while he found the food for their dinner. Watched her pinching her gown between her fingers and biting her bottom lip. Watched her eyes darting about, her smile returning when she noticed his gaze on her. “Looks like apples and a couple of carrots, a bit of cheese, and last night’s rabbit,” he said, arranging the food on the pack between them. “I’ll snag us something else this afternoon.”

No doubt she was hungry—they’d been walking since sunrise, and their breakfast had been lighter than usual, just an apple apiece and a small slice of cheese shared between them. But it wasn’t the reason she’d fainted. Kaidan would bet everything he owned on that. No, he recognized too-bright eyes and a false smile when he saw it. He’d perfected it, after all. Over the years.

As a lad, he’d smiled and shrugged when Brynjar forgot his nameday or didn’t come home for days on end. “It’s fine,” he’d say. And when Brynjar died, leaving him alone—really, truly alone for the first time in his life—and the priests tried to help in their well-meaning, cloying way, he’d said the same thing— _I’ll be fine._

Kaidan sliced into an apple with his dagger and passed half to Selene. She _would_ be fine, if he had anything to say about it. He’d damned well make sure of it.


	11. Stories by Firelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, for those keeping up. Lots and lots of time went by since my last chapter. AND this chapter is full of melodrama. I am in the middle of a complicated cross-country move, moving from a place I love to a place I despise, as well as dealing with some heartbreaking family problems. 
> 
> So I wrote more for fun this time, and didn’t pay as much attention as I usually do to how many times I say someone grinned or sighed or nodded. So if the wordcraft isn’t up to snuff, I apologize. Hopefully I’ll be back on track soon. 
> 
> Hope everyone had a fantastic holiday season, and I hope everyone’s 2021 is far far far better than your 2020.

Selene blinked into black skies and misty purple and green aurora. Her heartbeat slowed its racing, fading in time with the drums of war from her dreams. She blinked again, and the fire flickering just at the edge of her vision faded too.

A soft scuffling and crackling sounded nearby. Selene pushed herself up to sit, and yawned, stretching her arms overhead. She’d gone to bed just after sunset. Kaidan had laughed when she’d fallen asleep at supper and dropped half her venison steak in the dirt. He guided her to their bedroll with the promise he’d not stay up too late. That was a promise he’d failed to keep—he still sat, fully armored, on a rock near their roaring campfire, staring into the flames.

He had to be tired. They’d walked from dawn until close to sunset. And he’d insisted on carrying both bags as well as his bow and sword, though Selene swore she felt fine after yesterday’s fainting spell. A little tired and shaken, but fine, and quite capable of carrying her fair share. She glanced back up and watched a cloud sail by, revealing Masser and Secunda at their zenith. After midnight, at least. 

Kaidan poked at the fire with a crooked stick. His shoulders rose and fell like a mantle around a long sigh. Of course, Selene wasn’t the only one with heavy thoughts weighing on her mind.

She’d grown accustomed to Kaidan’s moods, to the darkness that sometimes washed over him, seemingly out of nowhere. That morning, they’d come upon a farm, its house and stable built of honey-colored wood shining gold in the sun. Selene found it charming—two children laughed and ran in the shallow yard, chasing a yellow pup. They’d run down the knoll toward the road, waving and calling out, their voices piping and shrill. Their parents rose quickly from their vegetable rows, shading their eyes and, she figured, gauging the threat—a man Kaidan’s size, armed to the teeth and covered in spiky, night-black armor… no doubt with the war raging, farmers all over Skyrim were wary of soldiers and mercenaries barging in, taking what they chose.

But Selene had smiled and waved in return, making her way up their rutted dirt lane, her blue and ivory silk gown and the flowered wreath wrangling her curls anything but menacing. After conversation and a gold piece traded for a small sack of bread and cheese, carrots and potatoes—and a honey-nut treat thrown in by one of the children, a blue-eyed girl with blond, stubby braids—everyone seemed to relax. Everyone but Kaidan, who’d not even followed her up the lane. He wouldn’t even look their way, but stood awkwardly by a fence post, his back to the farm, staring into the shadows of the neighboring forest.

After she’d joined him, excited over the prospect of something other than rabbit for supper, he responded with a grunt and walked on in a silent funk. A dark mood indeed, one that wore on until after they stopped for midday rest.

Since their meeting of minds at the waterfall, Selene felt she understood those moods, to what extent she could. _I’ve been through worse_ , he’d sworn, and she believed him. There was the ruin of his back, of course. And his life with the mysterious Brynjar sounded bleak—he’d never been a carefree boy playing with a dog under the watchful eye of loving parents. Perhaps the farmhouse put him in mind of the life he might have lived.

So, Selene gave him time, and to own the truth, the silence was welcome. If Kaidan’s actions had been overly solicitous, his questions—pointed and leading—were moreso. _Do you remember hearing music? You said you heard it. How about fire? Are you sure?_

If Selene tired of his questions and her own repeated _no_ and _I’m fine_ , Kaidan tired of the disappointment, she could tell. He only wanted to help. And she hadn’t meant to dissemble. But the lie had tumbled out in a panic, and…well, after so long, she wasn’t sure how to tell the truth.

Since Helgen—no, since before leaving Markarth, her dreams were darkened by black wings and fire on top of a snowy mountain. Of blood and war, of desolation and lost hope. But what happened when she’d touched those carvings—the fire licking at her veins, the seductive voice urging her on… _you are chaos given form. Power, in your blood, in your breath. Kings and mountains will tremble at your smallest sigh…_

No, what happened yesterday was no nightmare. Oh, she remembered. Remembered how good it felt, how _right_. Guilt washed over her—she’d kept too many secrets from Kaidan already. But this wasn’t something she was able to explain to herself. She couldn’t explain it to him. Not when she was having so much trouble working up the courage to ask him to stay with her after they reached Whiterun.

They’d awakened early that morning entwined with each other as usual, curled up against the cold. But his eyes had rested on hers for a long moment, and she thought she’d seen something there, something more than desire. More than duty. Selene had plenty of time to work out what she’d seen and felt when she touched those carvings. But to discover where she stood with Kaidan, her time was running short.

And perhaps it would all add up to nothing—a trick spell some old mage had carved into that ruin centuries ago. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who’d fallen for it. If anything else came of it, she’d do something about it. But until then...

Kaidan hadn’t moved from his place by the fire, but something about his expression sent a shiver of warning up her spine. He still stared into the flames, but seemed to look beyond, to something that emptied him, that turned his eyes into blank discs and his face to a mask, to someone she hardly recognized.

She sent a tiny sliver of magic searching out, and waited. When it came back under crashing waves of pain, Selene resisted crawling into a ball and cowering in the dubious safety of the bedroll by the skin of her teeth. Everything weighing Kaidan down—anguish and guilt—threatened to crush her. And worse than that, tendrils of loathing twined around the pain, its thorns sinking deep into Kaidan’s mind and her own. She took a deep breath and let it all slip away.

Selene had quailed under hatred at Helgen—directed toward Elenwen, that time, dark currents of rage. But that was nothing, nothing to what ate at Kaidan. She’d not noticed it back in his cell. Of course, there’d been plenty of hatred to go around—mostly for Cyrelian, his lackey guard. Some for her, even, when he’d thought she was one of them…

But this time, all that hate burned toward one target—himself.

In her mind, she saw herself backing away from Kaidan as he’d hung on the prison wall, his chains digging into his flesh. She wasn’t about to fail him again. Selene jumped to her feet and stumbled toward the fire in an instant. Kaidan stiffened, his back going stick-straight when she touched his armored shoulder. “Hey,” she whispered.

“What are you doing up?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I am,” he said, quickly crossing his hands over his lap. “You need your rest.”

“Ah,” she smiled. “But the great Kaidan exists on steel and ale and the blood of his enemies.” She knelt at his side and covered his hands with her own. Something rustled beneath them. She pulled his hands away. A book. Cyrelian’s diary. “What are you doing?”

He sighed through pursed lips. “I need to read it.”

The hatred made sense now. The guilt and sadness. She knew he blamed himself somewhat, for getting caught by the Thalmor. And for her own weakness after she’d healed him. Ridiculous, of course, but it didn’t change what was. She’d been waiting for him to read the diary, but understood why he hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling, reliving that month in chains, the feeling of helpless desperation she’d sensed through the bars of his cell. But he had no business reading such filth by himself. “You want to read it alone? In the middle of the night?”

He shook his head, but it was a half-hearted objection. “You shouldn’t have to—“

“To Oblivion with that, Kaidan.” She grabbed the diary and settled on the rock beside him. “I’m damned well going to.”

Kaidan took a deep breath and nodded. He reached over her knees and pulled two bottles of mead from his pack. They’d met a hunter on the road earlier that afternoon, and Kaidan had traded at least a dozen rabbit pelts for four bottles of mead and two thick venison steaks. The steaks, along with the potatoes and carrots she’d bought that morning, made a lovely change from rabbit and apples and increasingly stale cheese. “If you insist,” he said, passing her a bottle, “we might as well fortify ourselves.”

“We’ll read it.” She took the bottle and locked eyes with him. “And then, we’ll burn it.”

She opened the diary. Just the sight of Cyrelian’s copperplate hand made her stomach squirm.

“Got to read it before Whiterun,” Kaidan said, taking a long drink. “I don’t know who they told about me. I don’t want to be caught in Whiterun with a bounty on my own head.”

 _Whiterun_. Selene bit her lip. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up, of course. She wasn’t being cowardly by letting the segue pass. _She wasn’t._ “Not to mention they think your sword’s important. And we saw the same markings on that ruin,” she said, shivering. “Maybe they know what it means.”

“Hm,” Kaidan murmured. He rifled through the pages, skimming every third or fourth one. “The Blades…my sword. Looks like a record of stuff they asked me, and me telling them to fuck themselves.” He flipped to the back and turned the book upside down.

Selene took a drink and swallowed the thick, sweet mead, shuddering again. “If you want, I’ll skim it and tell you if there’s anything useful. You shouldn’t have to relive all that.”

“No, I need to read it. I’ve been through worse,” he said again, but he said it gently, and leafed back to the beginning. “I can handle it.”

She looped her arm through his. He didn’t wriggle away, and she was comforted by that. And vindicated—of course he shouldn’t read the diary alone. He needed company. Support. She rested her head against his bicep and skimmed the pages. Kaidan didn’t skim. He pored over it, absorbed it, moving his finger under the words, sometimes repeatedly. Selene looked up, watching his face—anger and sadness, and more than a little tired resignation.

A quarter of the way in, Kaidan tapped a page with his finger. “There’s something—they wrote about the marks on my sword. They do think it’s a Blades weapon, think I’m carrying a message. They think the message is some form of…Akaviri. A code. What?”

Selene shrugged and watched him puzzle through page after page, line after line. The record of what they’d done to him. She didn’t need to read it like he did, so she watched the aurora surging and fading, watched misty clouds pass over the stars, watched Kaidan’s fist clenching around the bottle of mead until she thought he’d crack it.

“There’s a map,” he said, finally, tapping at a page with his bottle. “It’s somewhere in the Reach.”

Selene perked up. Something useful. “Whereabouts?”

Kaidan jabbed the picture—a well-detailed representation of triangular mountain ranges, curlicued forests and rounded hills—with a finger. “That’s Forsworn territory, there. I wouldn’t go out that way without an army. Tried it once, not long ago, tracking a bounty deep in the hills. Barely got out alive.” He frowned. “I wonder why they’re interested in this place. And what it’s got to do with me.”

Selene flipped another page—empty—and thumbed through the rest. It was all blank, but toward the back, one page felt thicker than the others. She carefully separated the pages to find a folded up sheet tucked inside. “It’s a letter. Addressed to Rulindil at the embassy,” she murmured, and handed the parchment to Kaidan.

He tore through the seal and laid it out on top of the journal.

_Emissary Rulindil,_

_In response to your orders dated 19 th Last Seed 401, I confirm the shift in strategy regarding suspected Blades agents. Their potential knowledge of Akaviri sources lost at Cloud Ruler Temple cannot be discounted. To that end, I make my report. _

“The dragon showed up on the 17th of Last Seed,” Selene said. “Elenwen—First Emissary—she was there.”

Kaidan snorted. “They work quick.”

_On the last of Sun’s Height, I apprehended an individual claiming to have no ties to the Blades, but wearing armor of Blades design and carrying a most intriguing sword. The sword appears to be an oversized ebony katana—again, too connected to the Blades to be coincidental—and covered in markings that, I suspect, are some form of Akaviri code. The script is similar to Akaviri, but modified—see for yourself, and please send a copy to whomever might assist in translation. Added to the intelligence gathered from the agent captured in High Rock last Rain’s Hand, this could get us closer to finding the Blades stronghold. Now, with dragons returning, our motivation to finding this location in Skyrim has doubled._

_In the meantime, the captive is a patent liar, and you may rest assured my methods are greater than his resolve, as he is only a man. You may look forward to the successful conclusion of my study._

_By my hand and seal,_

_Cyrelian_

Selene sat in silence and watched Kaidan’s finger move under each line until he finished. “So,” she said, a strained laugh tugging at her lips, “are you secretly a code master for the Blades?”

Kaidan bumped her shoulder with his elbow. “No,” he said, and huffed quietly, “but it makes more sense now. If these Akaviri knew about dragons, and the Blades had a stockpile of what the Akaviri knew, no wonder the Thalmor are hunting them down. Just for a different reason this time.”

“Akaviri, ancient Nords, the voice, dragons…I don’t think I have the brain space to keep up, this time of night.” She stretched her neck from side to side and yawned. “And why would the Blades use Akaviri to send a message? Does that mean the wall—the markings on your sword—are Akaviri?”

“Brynjar didn’t talk about the Akaviri, so I don’t know. Maybe they figured a dead language would keep a secret, easy.” He drained the bottle of mead. “I’m starting to think Brynjar kept a lot of secrets, himself.”

Selene read the letter over again, pausing on the part about Kaidan’s armor. She’d helped him put it on and take it off—it was a marvel. Constructed of spiky ebony plates mounted onto leather backing and smithed together individually with ties and metal rings, it fit him like no armor she’d ever seen—no heavy armor, anyway. Like a second skin, streamlined instead of bulky, it moved with him instead of just sort of hovering around him as he walked.

Something cold shivered up her spine. “Kaidan.”

“Hm?”

“The night we met, you told me the Thalmor were hunting the Blades.”

He nodded and grabbed another bottle.

“Did you know about your armor? That it was Blades designed?”

He stared into the fire, his eyes tight. “Want to know if I was asking for it, do you?”

Selene shook her head. But it would explain a lot—the self-hatred, for one thing.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Brynjar left a chest for me, in that village in Betony. After he died, I found the key and a letter. I went back. The armor was there, and the bow. I don’t know why he’d hidden it—one of those secrets he never got around to telling me—but it seemed different enough from pictures of Blades armor I’d seen. It was my last tie to him. At first, that’s why I wore it. Now, I’m not sure.” Kaidan ripped the journal in half and threw it on the fire. The edges blackened and crinkled before succumbing to the orange flames. “Maybe I was asking for it.”

“No one asks for what you got.” Selene untangled her arm from Kaidan’s and stretched her arms high over her head. She slid down the rock and yanked off her socks, crossing an ankle over her knee. But perhaps a little caution was due. “Do you think you might…maybe…pick up different armor while you’re in Whiterun? You know, so it doesn’t happen again?” She called healing heat into her hands and pressed her thumbs into her arches and the balls of her feet. _Whiterun_. She really was running out of time.

Kaidan watched her hands, his eyes widening. “That looks like it feels good.”

“You’re next.”

He snorted and took a drink. “I’m not so sure. About the armor, I mean. I don’t want to chuck it, and don’t have anywhere to store it, nowhere safe. But you might have a point about wearing it so openly. Jarl of Whiterun doesn’t allow Thalmor agents in the city. Not sure why they obey, and I’ll not complain. But if my travels take me to Solitude or…”

She started on her other foot. Kaidan needed new armor. There had to be a way to get a good set. The gold they’d found in Cyrelian’s room was plentiful, but not enough for anything near as grand as what Kaidan already wore. “Come here,” she said, and patted the dirt at her knee, “go ahead and take off your boots.”

His mouth dropped open and one brow arched. “I thought you were kidding,” he said, but slid off the rock like it was made of glass.

“Well, I don’t feel like going back to sleep yet, thanks to that diary. Might as well put insomnia to good use.” She put back on her socks and pulled Kaidan’s foot onto the crook of her knee.

 _Whiterun_.

“We’ll get to Whiterun tomorrow,” she said, trying to ignore her heart slamming against her chest. “They told me this morning. At the farmhouse.”

He leaned back on his hands and watched her work. She heard the breath catch in his chest. “That’s good. For you.”

Selene swallowed hard. “What do you want to do? You know, after.”

“Don’t know.” His shrug was casual; the stiffening of his back and his downcast, averted eyes were anything but. As were his clipped tones when he continued. “Go back to hunting, most like. What about you? Any plans?”

Selene mimicked his shrug. “Well, I could go back to Markarth.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His jaw tightened. Was he displeased about her going back to Markarth or just reacting to the foot rub? She took a deep breath. “Before Helgen, before the dragon, I’d embarked on a bit of a tour, traveling Skyrim—“

Kaidan snorted. “You went sight-seeing in the middle of a civil war? No wonder you didn’t want to tell me about it.”

“I had my reasons.” She nodded, a bit lamely. “Point is, I had someone with me. A warrior. She was…” Selene pushed a pang aside with a renewed vow to ask about survivors once she reached Whiterun. “I lost her in Helgen. And yes, the dragon is an unexpected variable, but I’m not ready to change my plans because of it. So maybe…”

Kaidan drained his bottle and picked up hers, waggling it. Selene nodded her permission, and he took another drink. “You want me to be your tour guide? Still—and I can’t stress this enough—in the middle of a civil war? With dragons about?”

She might have imagined it, but Kaidan’s back seemed less stiff. His eyes and jaw relaxed. Everything seemed lighter, brighter. She took another deep breath, and took a chance. “I’m…I’m not ready to say goodbye to you. I don’t think.”

He looked at her face—just a quick glance before he turned his eyes back to her hands, curved and stilled around his foot. His jaw quivered. “I don’t see why I couldn’t take on a few bounties as we go.”

Her heart thumped joyfully and her stomach flip-flopped. She closed her eyes and offered Dibella a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

“Selene?”

She opened her eyes and watched Kaidan tip his head back, and stare up at the stars. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. You know, for reading with me.”

She dug the pads of her thumbs into his arch and enjoyed the sound of his gasp. “Don’t ever try anything like that again. You’re not alone anymore. You shouldn’t act like it.”

“Old habits.” He leaned his bottle against the side of the rock with a clink. “Hey, Selene,” he said again.

“Hm?”

“I, ah…I don’t suppose I’m ready to say goodbye to you either.”

Selene’s heart thumped again, but her smile faltered. The situation was unsettling. She was Dibella’s sibyl—men and women clamored for her company, not the other way around. She stole a glance at Kaidan, noting the smile curving his lips, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, just above his cheeks.

Then again, she left the sanctuary to discover how those men and women lived, did she not?

The morning she’d left Markarth—what seemed like years and years ago—butterflies had fluttered around in her stomach for hours on end. Harbingers of adventure, discovery. Well, she’d certainly had her fair share. And if the dragon had been unexpected, whatever might be building with Kaidan was moreso.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach again, but this time she welcomed their heady rush. She’d reach Whiterun at Kaidan’s side and figure out the rest when she could—the dragon, her search for survivors at Helgen, news about Ulfric, even.

And _if_ there was anything to discover about the wall and its fiery carvings, she’d find a way to deal with that as well.


	12. More Promises Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m not an Elder Scrolls scholar. I haven’t studied every telling in the lore of creation, of Mundus, of the spheres of Aetherius. So I know some of the things I’m writing about Aedra and Daedra may very well be the wrongest wrong that ever wronged. But you guys, that lore is so complicated. I could learn a new language or complete another degree in the time it would take me to get it all straight. But I hope you enjoy the story nonetheless.

The wind sweeping early-autumn golden leaves across the plains might have been cold, but Selene gazed up into the kingfisher blue sky above Whiterun’s granite walls and felt warm and welcome. Kaidan grumbled at her side. “Come on. It won’t be that bad,” she said, and looped her arm through his.

The gate opened wide, and city sounds—hoof beats and laughing children, ringing metal and slamming doors—greeted Selene like old friends. She breathed deep of city smells—horses and sweat, smoking braziers and a burning forge. And behind that, drifting from what looked like a busy marketplace at the end of a cobbled high street, the unmistakable scent of grilling beef. Kaidan’s stomach growled, echoing her own. “See?” Selene pulled him past the threshold. “We got here just in time for dinner.”

A mail coach had ambled up behind them early that morning, and they’d eagerly accepted the offer of a ride to the city. With hours cut from their journey, they’d have time to scope out a decent inn, and sell Cyrelian’s jewelry, and maybe even have a bath before night fell. Selene nearly swooned at the thought—a hot bath and a real bed, after sleeping on the cold ground for what felt like months.

“Well,” Kaidan said, his steps slowing as they passed what looked like a blacksmith’s, “at least I can get my sword sharpened. And my bow restrung.” He stopped and whistled.

Selene followed his gaze toward a shining green blade hanging near the smithy door, its curved gold hilt dripping with sapphires. “Maybe we can shop for new armor while you wait?”

He picked up his step, nodding casually to a passing guard. “I thought we’d look around a bit first. See the lay of the land and whatnot. Armor’s a big purchase.”

Selene had tried again, on their journey, to convince Kaidan to leave his Blades-inspired armor behind. Or sell it—armor that well-made would fetch a good price. She wasn’t surprised when he’d refused. He was reticent when it came to his past—Brynjar, his mother’s death—but Selene suspected the armor and the sword meant a lot more to him than he let on.

_Brynjar told me she won the sword in a game of dice. But I didn’t believe him._

More than his own, life, even.

But in the end, it came back to money, money they didn’t have. Inescapable fact, that. The jewelry they had to sell wouldn’t come close to funding a new set.

They passed a few houses—propped up on stone foundations, smoke pouring from their chimneys—on the way to the marketplace. As houses gave way to shops, Selene noticed several she wanted to investigate—a general store, of course, and a jeweler’s stall, sunlight glinting off a particularly pretty moonstone and silver pendant hanging from a peg. She thought she saw a tailor’s out of the corner of her eye, and was veering around a covered well in the middle of the market for a closer look at bolsters of fabric in their windows when she felt it—a little tug at her heart.

Like she’d felt in the woods, the day she’d escaped Ulfric. When she’d found Dibella’s shrine.

Selene followed the tug. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly toward a stone staircase, taking its shallow steps two at a time. A yellow-liveried guard barked at her to slow down, but his warning barely registered. Dibella was calling, and nothing else mattered. At the top of the staircase, a great tree loomed over a circular courtyard, its pink and purple blooms casting comfortable shade over houses and a small cow byre. But lovely as it was, it didn’t distract from Selene’s destination—a stately, soaring building made of bright, honey-colored wood.

There. Dibella was there.

Something touched her shoulder, and she whirled around. Kaidan stood in the shade of the tree, his gaze darting warily around the courtyard. He frowned at a man screeching words she couldn’t understand in front of what looked like some sort of shrine. “Something wrong?”

Of course it looked strange to Kaidan, to see her run from the market without so much as a warning. But she smiled up at him, and the wariness faded from his eyes. He scanned the courtyard again, this time with curiosity. “See someone you know?”

She shook her head. “No, not exactly. But…” She’d not given Kaidan the impression she was a follower of any Divine, let alone someone so devout they’d seek out prayer before sustenance or shelter. She shrugged and nodded toward the building—someone’s home, perhaps? Or a museum? There wasn’t a sign. “I need to go inside. In there.”

Kaidan’s eyes crinkled. “Why? What’s there?”

A passing guard stopped and huffed. “Newcomers,” he muttered, his blond beard wagging. But he studied them, inspecting Kaidan’s armor with grudging respect. “That’s the temple of Kynareth. Priestess is inside. But since the dragon attack and the war, it’s more hospital than a place of prayer.” He looked Selene up and down, eyeing her gold-trimmed green wool gown with that same grudging respect. “Are you feeling ill? My lady?”

“No sir.” Selene glanced between Kaidan and the guard. “I need to ask about a friend.”

The guard nodded and continued his patrol around the tree and up a short flight of stairs toward what looked like a capsized ship peeking over a tall, granite wall. Selene looked up at Kaidan. “You heard what he said—since the dragon attack. There might be survivors inside. I need to ask about Myka.”

Concern deepened the crinkles around his eyes. “Do you want me to go with you?”

She shook her head. An idea dawned. “I might be able to help out. I can heal, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” He frowned. “Be careful. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?”

“Go on, get your sword seen to. Or,” she said, brightening, “there’s a fighter’s guild here, of sorts. I’ve heard they’re an interesting group.” Selene had met a couple of the legendary Companions, warriors who called Whiterun home, a few years ago when a gang of marauders based in the Reach had drawn them to Markarth.

But Kaidan shook his head, his mouth curving in a moue of distaste. “No, thank you,” he said. “I think I’ll see to my sword, look around a bit. I’ll come back for you when it’s done.”

Selene nodded and watched him trot back down the steps toward the marketplace before she headed toward the temple, trying hard to keep her excitement at bay. The door opened with a whisper. Having healed Kaidan’s wounds at the prison, having seen and smelled the reality of injury and sickness, Selene expected to see and smell something similar in the temple. But the lofty room was quiet and still. It smelled clean—like pinesap and cool, frosty wind.

She tiptoed through the room, stopping before a glass mosaic in the middle of the floor—a white dove soaring over a field of blue and yellow. Noonday sun from a skylight in the center of the high ceiling set it aglow.

“May I help you?”

Selene turned toward the voice. It belonged to a woman, tall and graceful and raven-haired, her blue and gold robes swishing against the polished wood floor. The swishing came to a stop when she stepped into the sun. The woman stared at Selene, her mouth falling open and her red-rimmed eyes wide.

Selene inclined her head. “I hope so. A friend of mine was in Helgen when the dragon attacked. I was hoping to find information about survivors.” The woman’s shocked expression remained unchanged. Selene took a step toward her. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes.” The woman blinked and stepped back, stumbling over the hem of her robe. “Well, maybe…” A breathy laugh escaped her lips, and she shrugged. “Who _are_ you?”

“I’m looking for a friend who might have survived Helgen. My name is Selene.”

“Danica, Priestess of Kynareth,” the woman said, with a quick, efficient nod. She took a deep breath, her amulet of Kynareth rolling against the folds of her robes. “I had a dream last night. You were in it. You stood just there, in that very spot. Only you were…”

Danica blushed, her face turning as pink as the blooms of the tree outside. Selene waited. When Danica said nothing, silent and rooted to the spot, Selene smiled. “I’ve had my fair share of embarrassing dreams. You won’t shock me, I promise.”

Danica looked down at her amulet, turning it over in her fingers. “You were wearing the insignia of Lady Dibella, and…nothing else.”

Selene sighed. Poor Danica. Dibella did tend toward the dramatic. Excitement bubbled in Selene’s belly, but she tried to keep her smile gentle. “I do belong to Dibella. Your dream was true. Although, as you can see,” she said, motioning to her gown, “I’m not planning to disrobe in the middle of your temple. But if you have a private room…”

Danica nodded, her blush deepening. “In the dream, I led you to a room at the rear of the temple, lilies on the floor, covering the walls. You knelt, there, in the middle of the lilies. And then, I woke up.”

“This is a lovely place,” Selene said, filling her lungs with ice-scented air. “Smells like the mountains.”

Danica nodded. “Kynareth,” she said, by way of explanation. “We pray outside, under the Gildergreen—the pink-blooming tree. Kynareth’s presence is stronger there.” She took a deep breath, and her composure seemed to return. She motioned toward a hallway at the rear of the temple. “But I think the room you’re interested in is this way.”

Selene followed Danica through a shady corridor lit by more skylights. Danica opened a door at the end of the hallway and ushered Selene inside. “There are no lilies,” she said apologetically, but Selene waved a hand.

“The lilies were symbolic, only. Dibella’s presence is here,” she said. “I feel it.”

Danica nodded. “I think I do too,” she said, and shivered before turning to go.

“Danica?”

“Yes?”

Selene swallowed. “Were there survivors? From Helgen?”

Danica nodded. “More than we’d hoped for, when we heard the news. Imagine surviving a dragon attack, living to tell that tale.”

_Imagine_. “I’m looking for a woman. Tall—a warrior. Short red hair. Her name was—is—Myka.”

Danica frowned. “I don’t remember anyone by that name, or description. But you should hold out hope—only the most severely wounded came here. I healed at least a dozen, and lost twice that number. The bulk of the survivors went to Falkreath or Riverwood.”

Kaidan, at least, would be eager to get back out on the road. Selene met Danica’s tired eyes, took note of shadows and a tell-tale tightness around her mouth. The woman put up a good front, but was obviously dead on her feet. “Is anyone still in need of healing? I can help, after I’m through.”

Danica’s shoulders slumped in relief. “You can? That would be welcome. Arcadia—that’s the alchemist, her shop’s in the marketplace—she’s helped with potions, but there’s no one else skilled in healing, nearby” she said, her gaze falling heavily to the floor. The shadows under her eyes deepened. “From one healer to another, I have to admit…I’ve never been so scared.” She looked back up. “You came from Markarth, from Dibella’s temple? Did you hear anything? Anything else about the dragons?”

Selene shook her head. “Nothing.” She didn’t feel like explaining she hadn’t seen Markarth in weeks. Or that she lived through Helgen, to tell the tale herself. It wouldn’t help Danica’s patients, or reassure her in any way. “I’d hoped to find out more here.”

Danica nodded slowly and closed the door. Selene hastily disrobed and hung her gown on the back of a polished wooden chair pushed under a polished wooden table. Aside from those items, and a braided rug on the floor, the room was bare. Selene knelt on the rug, its fraying threads tickling her knees and the sides of her calves. It wasn’t long until the scent of lilies filled the room.

Tears stung Selene’s eyes. “Where have you been?”

_It’s only been a week, love._

Dibella tutted gently, but Selene barely heard over the whooshing of her heartbeat in her ears. “A week?” It couldn’t have been a week. She frantically counted the days in her head, chronicling every event since that day in the forest, at Dibella’s shrine. She’d escaped Ulfric and nearly lost her life in a storm. She’d traveled from Eastmarch to Whiterun. She’d met Kaidan…

Selene shivered. She would have laughed if her situation weren’t so dire. Surely she’d known Kaidan longer than a week. But Dibella was right. “It’s only been a week,” she repeated, her voice a hoarse whisper.

_But what a week it’s been, such that I’ve seen, anyway._

Selene heard the smirk in Her voice, suggestive and lilting. She knew what Dibella wanted to talk about—Kaidan. Leave it to Dibella to gab about romance and passion, rather than warning her about dragons and fire and war. Selene sighed. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want the same. “Kaidan…the man I’ve been traveling with. What do you think of him?”

Warmth surrounded her again, that feeling of being embraced by a pair of soft arms, being held against soft breasts. She even felt silky hair brushing against her back. _You sound like you’re holding back. Is that truly what you wish to ask me?_

“If I were to ask about fire on top of Snow Throat, would you be able to tell me anything new?”

Silence.

“I had a vision of fire when I touched some carvings on an old wall, a few days ago. It wasn’t a dream. It was real—maybe a spell. So much power. But last week,” Selene said, stumbling again over the contrast—the enormity of what had happened in the last few days compared with the tiny sliver of time, “last time we talked, you said such things weren’t of your sphere.”

_I understand your impatience._ The soft arms stilled, and she felt rather than heard a sigh. _There are…gaps. As I couldn’t see why you were given visions of the small boy praying to Sithis, as I couldn’t see the dragon until it manifested in Skyrim, so I cannot see anything related to the dragons. Some other being—unknown to me—is sending these visions, and in time, that being will seek you out._

“You told me to seek answers in the mysteries of love.” Selene frowned. “Did you send that storm? I fell into a river to escape it. That’s what led me to Kaidan. Was that your doing?”

_You can’t seek the mysteries of love unless there’s love to seek._

“There’s a problem, though.”

Silence.

“I touched him, on the side of his cheek—he has a mark, some sort of rune. A tattoo.” Selene described what she’d seen when she touched Kaidan’s temple with a sense of relief. Even if Dibella couldn’t tell her anything about it, it felt good to get it off her chest. “His heart is good. True. He’s been through something traumatic in his past. A troubled childhood, maybe. But I’m worried about what I saw…”

Silence.

A sliver of cold slid into Selene’s spine. “Dibella?”

_You didn’t leave Markarth to be safe, did you love?_

The sliver of cold turned to ice. “You didn’t see this, did you? You put this man in my path, but you didn’t see…what is it? What’s wrong with him?”

_I saw his heart, and his heart only. Not his circumstance. I saw what he could be to you. And your judgment is correct, I would trust him with your heart._

Dibella’s cryptic nature was starting to get on her nerves. “But you just said—“

_I would trust him with your heart. I stand by that. He is…passionate. Generous. He trusts easily. But like you, he’s been touched by another._

“I knew he’d been hurt before.”

_Have you asked him?_

Selene squeezed her eyes shut. “He doesn’t want to talk about it—the tattoo, he has awful burns on his back. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Silence.

Selene opened her eyes. This was Kaidan she was talking about. What could she learn that would change her mind about him? That would make him less worthy of her love? “Tell me.”

_What you saw when you touched the mark on his skin…the fire, the smoke, the blackened earth. I don’t know how, but some part of you touched the demesne of Mehrunes Dagon._

Mehrunes Dagon. “No. No, no no.” Panic welled in Selene’s chest, panic Dibella’s gentle shushing did little to allay. “But Kaidan, he’s not a follower of Mehrunes Dagon. He couldn’t be. He doesn’t want power, he doesn’t enjoy seeing things hurt, or die. He’s protective, but that’s—”

_I said he’d been touched, not that he’s a follower. That, I can’t know. It’s—_

“Not of your sphere,” Selene murmured, and took a deep breath. Something occurred to her, something that cut through her panic. “Wait—Dagon isn’t of your sphere, neither is whatever is responsible for the dragons. How can you tell me about one and not the other?”

_My sense of Dagon is different because he is Daedra. Aedra are…as a bright light, we cloak each other in that light. And it blinds us to each other, in a way. But Daedra live in shadow. Distinguishable from the light. I can’t see into the darkness. But I can see that the darkness exists._

A bit of relief washed over her. The power, and the hunger she’d felt when she’d touched the carvings didn’t point to anything evil, at least. “So, whatever’s behind my visions—my dreams—is Aedra. A Divine. That’s good.”

_Aedra are no less manipulative._

Selene smirked, and felt the warmth of Dibella’s laugh against her heart.

_Yes, as you well know, my love. But we manipulate mortals for the good of Mundus. Whereas Daedra do it for their own ends—whatever those ends might be. And Mehrunes Dagon… if you choose to stay with Kaidan, you open yourself up to whatever danger’s stalking him._

Stalking Kaidan. Mehrunes Dagon. The name sat like a weight on Selene’s chest. She remembered the voice calling out through red, smoke-filled skies—threatening, triumphant. Nausea rose in her throat. What had Kaidan done to warrant that sort of attention? “The mysteries of love…you said they’re my weapons against the dragon.”

Dibella’s invisible hands covered Selene’s shoulders in a steel grasp. _Mehrunes Dagon is untouchable._

“I wasn’t thinking about Dagon. But, Kaidan—“

Dibella’s hands relaxed. _Kaidan is a man, and must make his own choices. Love as you will, but no one can save someone who doesn’t choose to be saved._

Selene wasn’t sure how to answer.

_What I mean is…if you feel love for this man, love him. But do not love him because you wish to save him._

Selene sighed. “This is ridiculous. It’s only been a week. Why am I thinking about the future already when I know so little about him? An ordinary woman wouldn’t—”

_But you are no ordinary woman. You are mine. You know your heart and you know his. Ordinary love is not in your stars._

“Isn’t that why I left Markarth? If Kaidan were to love me, wouldn’t he love me as an ordinary man? I think that would take more than a week.”

_What if he is no ordinary man?_

Selene let that sink in. Kaidan had crossed paths with Mehrunes Dagon. He carried a sword covered in the same runes that put her in a trance and gave her visions of power. He was hunted by the Dominion. Her heart beat faster. Perhaps Kaidan was no ordinary man.

_Would you like my counsel?_

“Always.”

Soft arms tightened around Selene, soft lips brushed the nape of her neck.

_You don’t need it. Not this time. You know the right thing to do. Gather your courage, your passion, and do it._

Selene nodded shakily. She wasn’t so sure, but it bolstered her spirits that Dibella had such confidence in her. “Will you come back here, to the temple? While we’re in Whiterun?”

_When I can. It isn’t easy navigating the temple of another Aedra for long. Power must align in just the right way. But when I can, I will._

“Will you hold me for a while?”

_Of course. Close your eyes. When you’re ready, open them, and go. Love. Live your life._

Selene did as she was bid, and tried to see Kaidan through Dibella’s eyes—protective and passionate, generous and beautiful. To own the truth, it was an easy task. Her Goddess hadn’t known She was pushing Her Sibyl into the path of the daedric prince of bloodshed and betrayal when She pushed her into the path of that storm. And betrayal wasn’t written on Kaidan’s heart. Selene knew that as well as she knew her own name.

But all paths weren’t meant to be safe and smooth. And though most of what Selene wanted to know was outside her Goddess’s purview, Dibella saw two things clear as glass…

Selene was no ordinary woman, and the time for playing it safe had long passed


	13. Surface Waves

Whiterun wasn’t half bad, for a city. The blacksmith had restrung his bow and honed his sword, all for a reasonable price. The guards minded their own business—aside from gathering the basics at the gate and answering his question about the temple, they’d pretty much left him alone. Hadn’t even given his eyes a second look. And best of all, Dominion agents weren’t allowed inside. Kaidan hadn’t needed to inquire about that last—the priest outside the temple of Kynareth, wailing about evil elves and holy Talos, was evidence enough.

Maybe Selene would relax a bit about his armor, now they knew which way the wind blew.

He did have criticisms, of course. No city was perfect. For one thing, Brynjar had told him stories of Dragonsreach, the jarl’s palace—built to capture ferocious, fire-breathing dragons. If the legend was true, why was the palace—and most of the houses in the city—made of wood? Was there such a thing as magical, non-burning wood? Kaidan hoped so, especially—and this was criticism number two—given the shameful lack of archers on the walls. His eyes had nearly popped out of his head when they’d come upon the city from the road, its walls and defensive layout impressive at first glance. What with threats of dragons and the civil war, he’d thought to see steel glinting along the length of the ramparts. But Whiterun’s guards didn’t seem to be on alert. Maybe they minded their own business a little too much.

Kaidan shaded his eyes and stepped off the sunny front stoop of the Inn of the Bannered Mare, bang into a crowd of women who seemed to have appeared by magic outside the alchemist’s shop next door. He sidestepped out of their way and just avoided beaning himself on the low awning of a little jeweler’s stall, only to bump into a red-robed man dragging what looked to be a mammoth tusk through the crowd.

Which led him straightaway into criticism number three.

“There are too many fucking people,” he said, after he’d apologized to the now red-faced man and helped him pick up his tusk out of the dirt and carry it to the general store. “Why do they all have to be right here at the same time?”

“I think the why of it’s obvious,” Selene said, leaning against the inn’s double doors. They’d dropped their bags in their room after she’d finished at the temple—only Selene’s growling stomach and peaky, white face had dragged him from a nap on a real bed—and set out in search of dinner. Selene pushed away from the inn, walking breezily at his side. She scanned the market, her gaze lighting on a butcher’s stall where a bare-chested Bosmer tended a sizzling grill covered with long skewers of meat. “Don’t you smell that?” She breathed deep of its smoky scent, and only coughed a little. “I’m starving.”

Kaidan was, too. His stomach hadn’t shut up since they’d passed the gates, and he’d not tasted beef in ages. But he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “If a dragon comes calling, that beef won’t be the only thing in this city smoking. Everyone’s mind should be on strategy, not their stomachs, at a time like this.”

“Lighten up, Kaidan,” Selene said, and made a beeline for the stall. She held out two fingers and the butcher held up five in return. Selene plucked five Septims from the purse at the waist of her soft, green gown and handed them over. The butcher brushed two skewers with an orange-brown colored sauce that hissed when it dripped over the coals.

Selene weaved her way through a bunch of kids playing tag in the street, holding the skewers up and out of the fray. Sunlight turned her hair to gold, and her laugh rang out over the din of the crush.

_So beautiful._

And Kaidan wasn’t the only one who thought so—the Bosmer butcher, two guards hanging out near the market well, and a pretty woman tending a fruit and veg stand couldn’t keep their eyes off her either.

_I’m not ready to say goodbye to you, I don’t think._

His heart thumped just as crazily as it had last night by the fire, remembering her words, her sweet blush and warm smile as she’d said them. He’d prepared himself for goodbye, prepared himself to hand her off to a coach that would carry her back to Markarth, and out of his life for good. Whatever made her want to stay with him he couldn’t imagine, but he thanked every star in the sky that she had.

Selene passed him a skewer and he took it with murmured thanks. Juices ran down his chin with the first bite. He caught them with his fingers. Selene watched him lick them clean, a smile curving her lips. He looked down, his face and neck growing warm.

_You don’t deserve her._

When he looked back up, she’d already looked away, her expression distant, wistful. He wondered what captured her attention. Was she thinking of her family in Camlorn? Her home in Markarth? Or—and Kaidan hoped this was the case—their big, comfy bed back at the inn?

“Why don’t you want to meet the Companions?”

“What?” Kaidan blinked. She’d been pining over a bunch of mercs? “Why would I?”

She shrugged and kept her eyes on her skewer. “I thought you’d want to. Warriors, like you. You might have a lot to talk to them about.”

Kaidan laughed. “Have I done something to give you the impression I want to talk to anyone?” Selene looked up, her eyes narrowed in a mock glare. “Other than you of course,” he said, and copied her shrug. “I’m just not much of a joiner, I guess.”

Selene ambled toward the rear of the marketplace and stopped in front of a shop with rolls of cloth stacked in a big picture window. Kaidan followed, glad to be out of the main flow of traffic. “Were you ever?” She leaned against a column holding up the shop’s awning, her hair blowing in the breeze. “What about after…”

“After Brynjar died?” Kaidan watched Selene nod and look down at her shoes. He frowned, a twinge of unease prickling his spine. “What’s got you so curious?”

Selene turned toward the window and took a bite from her skewer. “Pretty silk,” she murmured, and pointed to the shop. A tall blond woman stood at the window, the sun’s glare harsh on her face, holding a long swath of red shimmering fabric up to the light. “I don’t know, it seemed like a natural inquiry. New to the city, no longer on our own. Maybe I’m just wondering what you might like to do for fun.”

Kaidan stepped into the shade of the awning and glanced quickly at Selene’s face, her hands. Her questions were a bit evasive…but she wasn’t fidgeting or biting her lip. Or blushing. No signs of hiding anything. Then again, what could she have found out in the short time they’d been in town? He’d been cooling his heels under the Gildergreen for a quarter hour by the time she’d come out of the temple. She’d not had time to talk with anyone who might recognize him, anyone who might know just how bad he’d fucked up after Brynjar died.

No, there was no reason for Selene to suspect anything at all. And no reason the Companions would be involved—he’d lived in High Rock at the time, not Skyrim. He took a deep breath. “Alright. Here you go, then—the Companions are mercenaries. Someone’s owed money, they’ll send the Companions to collect. Maybe rough ‘em up a little. And hey,” he said, and shrugged, “there’s no shame in making a living, I’m a bounty hunter. I get it. But I don’t accept a contract to beat up my neighbor and cloak it in honor and glory.” He ripped the last chunk of beef from his skewer.

Selene looked up at him, her eyes widen and completely lacking in guile. “You’re full of opinions today.”

“I have them every day. You just happened to ask.” Relief washed over him. He finished chewing, and swallowed, eyeing the butcher’s stall. “As for what I’d like to do while we’re here? Well, that we can find back at the inn. Warm fire, good music, good ale. It’s enough for me,” he said, twirling his skewer between his thumb and forefinger. “Wouldn’t say no to another of these, either.”

* * *

They never made it down to the tavern side of the inn. Kaidan never got his drink. They stopped off at their room to grab the bag of jewelry to sell, and Kaidan made the mistake of taking off his armor and sitting on the bed. Just for a minute or two, just to rest his eyes. He woke up with his head on his pillow and his feet still on the floor, Selene snoring at his side.

Which, she would be sleepy. She hadn’t found Myka at the temple, but she’d helped heal a few soldiers hurt in Stormcloak skirmishes, and two women with lingering injuries from Helgen. Kaidan wouldn’t be surprised if she slept clear to next morning.

He stretched and looked out the little attic window. The sun was just setting, the sky a smoky violet and pink. Kaidan watched the last bit of light fade, and thought about getting up and going downstairs for a drink. But in the end, he pulled his feet onto the bed, wincing only a little as his back straightened out from the cramped ell he’d slept in. Selene let out a soft warbling noise and curled her body into a tight ball, her bare toes just peeping out from under her gown.

They’d snagged the very last bed at the inn. The room was cozy—took up half the attic spanning the length of the tavern, and their bed took up over half the room. Wreaths of snowberry vines twisted with some sort of savory-scented herb hung on the walls, and guttering candles stood on bedside tables and a basin and a shallow, mirrored cabinet. Muffled music—a lute, maybe, he didn’t have much of an ear—drifted up through rug-covered wood planks.

Kaidan felt a misgiving or two about sleeping in the same room as Selene, not to mention the same bed. True, they’d shared a bedroll on the road, but that was out of necessity. They’d have frozen if they hadn’t. Here, they had options. The Mare wasn’t the only inn in town. He could go somewhere else. But when the lady behind the bar had apologized for the lack of space, her eyes darting curiously between him and Selene, Selene had only smiled and plunked the required Septims on the counter. And pulled Kaidan toward the stairs, her fingers curled around his weapons belt.

Then again, he hadn’t protested too much.

He wanted her, of course he did. It was easy…well, easier anyway, to keep from acting on that desire while they shared a bedroll in the woods. He was her protector, her bodyguard. He had no business kissing her, holding her, no matter how much he wanted to. Or how many signals she sent out, hinting she might want him, too—catching his eye over the campfire, touching him when she could have kept her distance. Lingering in bed of a morning, snuggled in his arms.

But now, Selene had choices. She wasn’t tied to him. She could hire a coach and go back to Markarth if it didn’t work out. She could hire another bodyguard and gallivant around Skyrim all she liked. And now, they had a bed to share, and a door closed and locked between them and the rest of the world. Nothing to hold them back.

Nothing but his own grumbling doubts. He might want her in his life, but he didn’t deserve her, and was pretty sure he never would.

_I’m just not much of a joiner._

Kaidan let out a low, grumbling sigh and closed his eyes. He’d healed a fair bit over the past two years, or he thought he had. But opening up to Selene made him realize he’d only slapped a bandage over something ugly and bloody. Infected. Over the past week the bandage had come loose, bit by bit. And yesterday at that farm, he’d lost it for good.

The farm…

He’d stood on the road, stealing glances at the neat garden, the laughing children and work-weary mum and dad. Yesterday morning, the sun had shone bright, but Kaidan saw the farm through the lens of his memory—shrouded in dim moonlight, tucked up in the misty mountains of the Western Reach. And the family who lived within weren’t playing in the sun, but sleeping safe in their beds—mom and dad, sister and brother. Even the fucking family dog.

Safe.

Or so they’d thought.

Selene stirred beside him. Kaidan pressed his fingers hard against closed eyelids, willing the memory away. The past was the past, and he’d have to deal with it rather than pushing it aside, he knew that now. Just…not tonight. 

“Kaidan?”

_You don’t deserve her._

He didn’t. And he’d meant to push himself up from the bed and suggest they go get supper. Or at least have a drink, listen to some music. But Selene’s sleepy voice melted his resolve. He rolled to his side and pushed a mussed curl off her pink cheek.

She blinked and yawned into her pillow. “You know what I’d like?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and Kaidan found himself copying it. “What?”

“A bath.”

* * *

Nords.

Stuck in the past, and overly concerned with race—a quirk they had in common with Altmer, though they’d likely die rather than admit it—yet so practical about the facts of life. In northern towns, multiple families shared dwellings over the long winters to conserve heat, and Kaidan figured couples didn’t abstain from sex for months on end. It was only natural certain things wouldn’t tend to be as private as he liked.

Things like bathing.

Although Kaidan had to admit—the inn’s communal bathing chambers suited him just fine, at the moment, anyway. He’d washed quickly, and now he soaked on a submerged stone ledge in the hot spring flowing underneath the inn, breathing deep of salt and damp earth and smoke from braziers set into the walls. Selene splashed in the niche next to his. That flimsy illusion of privacy only made him want her more.

They’d entered the chamber together and hung their robes on hooks, and with shy smiles and eyes intentionally focused upward, they’d made for the nearest carved stone bathing niches. Only one other niche was occupied, to the rear of the chamber, by an older woman with a heavily wrinkled face.

Kaidan tried to focus on his sore muscles, on soaking the aches and stiffness of the road from his feet and lower back. But his mind betrayed him, creeping through the chamber inch by inch, until it focused squarely on Selene—how her skin might glow in the light of the braziers. How each droplet of water might slip down her curves like the touch of a fingertip.

She cleared her throat and called out. “You awake over there?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straight. “You about done?”

“Hmmm,” she said, making a sound halfway between a moan and a sigh of pure pleasure. Kaidan closed his eyes and imagined her face—flushed from the heat of the spring, her lips gently parted. “I could stay in here forever. I don’t think I’ve been truly warm since I left Markarth.”

“Well, take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

“Yeah,” she said, and sighed again. Kaidan’s eyes snapped open—she sounded frustrated rather than content.

“Something bothering you?” He’d been waiting on her to talk about what she’d seen when she touched that carved wall. To confide in him, whatever it was she was holding back. “Is it the wall? Did you remember something?”

“No, it’s not that.” More splashing, and then silence. A few beats went by, and Kaidan figured she’d ended the conversation when she spoke up again. “I suppose I just…haven’t felt like myself lately.”

“That could be the wall, though,” he said, ignoring Selene’s huff. He slid across the ledge, closer to Selene’s niche. “Look, if you remember anything—“

“It’s not the damned wall, Kaidan!”

He looked down, holding his hands on the surface of the water and feeling soft waves tickle his palms. He tried not to take Selene’s frustration to heart. He wanted to believe her, and more than that, he wanted to help. But if she wasn’t ready to talk, he wouldn’t push it again.

Water splashed suddenly, and the light from the braziers dimmed. Kaidan looked up.

Selene stood there, barely two feet of fragrant, steamy air all that separated her from him. Kaidan tried to breathe, but his lungs wouldn’t work. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t open. Nothing seemed to work—his arms, his legs, every part of his body felt like leaden stone. All but his heart, and it worked overtime, pounding, thundering in his chest.

_Selene_.

She was every bit as lovely as he imagined. More, if that was possible. Slow ripples of water lapped just below her hips. Her skin glowed a soft, golden bronze in the firelight. She took one step toward him, a tentative step, but her smile was warm and her eyes dark with desire.

For him. _For him._

He swallowed hard and with what seemed like superhuman effort, forced air into his lungs. “Selene…”

She reached up, over her head, and gathered her wet hair into a coil, wringing it out. Fiery droplets spilled down her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. The lead in his muscles turned molten _._ “I told you I haven’t been myself lately,” she said. “I’ve been afraid. And that fear, well, it’s cost me a bit of myself.”

Where she was going with this, Kaidan had no idea. He cleared his throat. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m done with that, though.” She let her arms fall to her sides. “I’m done. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me. Afraid of other things, too,” she said, and took another step into his niche. “I’ve wanted you from that first morning. You were asleep, so you wouldn’t know, but—“

“I wasn’t asleep.”

She froze. “You weren’t?”

“I remember,” he said, locking his eyes with hers. “I—“

“If you don’t want me, I understand.” She nodded slowly and her spine seemed to stiffen. “But I had to take the chance.”

Kaidan stood up so fast a wave of water came with him. Its splash echoed through the silent chamber. He reached Selene in one step before his mouth covered hers, and she opened for him with a smile he could feel on his own lips. It warmed him like the sun. “I remember that morning,” he said, catching her bottom lip between his. His fingers only shook a little when he touched her, just below the curve of her waist. “You burrowed against me, curled up like a cat. Your hands were just…here.” He took her hands in his and slid them up his belly.

Surprise lit her green eyes. “Why didn’t you—“

Kaidan kissed her, the softest of kisses, like he was touching a rose to the corner of her mouth. “I was your…protector. I didn’t want you to think I expected it.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she said, firmly, sliding her palms up and over his chest. “Not from you.”

He blinked and watched her lower her head and place a kiss just below his collarbone. Her lips and hands burned into his skin, and again, he felt her smile.

“Do you happen to remember where your hands were that morning?” She looked up at him, mischief sparkling in her eyes this time.

Kaidan’s heart thundered, still. He was sure Selene could hear it. He slid his hands around her hips to the swell of her bottom and lifted her up, crushing her breasts against his chest.

“That’s not where they were!” She called, over the sound of water raining down, just before his mouth covered hers again.

He slid his tongue against her lips. The taste of her drew a moan from his chest and he knew then, knew that he never wanted to stop. Never wanted to taste anything, feel anything on his skin again, nothing but Selene. He closed his eyes and held her close as a shudder ran through his body.

They had a bed to share in a room with a door that closed and locked them away from everyone else in the world.

And they had all night.

“Let’s go,” he said, his heart soaring when she laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He carried her through the bathing chamber to grab their robes, and looked over his shoulder, intending to apologize to the old woman in the far niche for the show they’d put on, but the chamber was empty. “Hopefully we won’t see her at dinner tonight,” he said, setting Selene down and watching her shrug into her robe.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “We won’t be at dinner tonight,” she said, before turning and running from the room.

* * *

Kaidan watched Selene run upstairs, watched her hair swish down her back, watched the curve of her backside clinging to her wet linen robe. Watched her feet blur as she picked up speed.

Of course, she couldn’t run fast enough.

She skipped inside their room and he followed her, locking the door behind them. When he turned around, Selene was already naked. As he had in the bathing chamber, he scooped her up and laid her out on the bed. But instead of lying down, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pulled him by the sash of his robe to stand in between her thighs. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she worked at the knot at his waist.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, over a tiny giggle. The knot finally came loose and she pulled the robe open and yanked at the sleeves.

Kaidan shimmied the robe off his shoulders. Before it hit the floor in a crumpled, wet heap, Selene touched her lips to his belly, in the vee of his ribs. Her fingers teased at the tops of his thighs. “Gods, Selene,” he said, and groaned.

Her sigh hummed against his skin. “So beautiful,” she said, and wrapped her legs around his, wrapped her arms around his back and pulled. They tumbled on the bed, laughing.

Kaidan lay over the soft length of her, keeping most of his weight on his elbows, his face inches from hers. “I didn’t know, you know. Wasn’t sure,” he said, and kissed her bottom lip. “If you wanted me, too. Until the bath. I hoped. Gods, I hoped.”

“I wasn’t sure either.” Selene smiled and kissed his jaw. “I never knew it was so hard to figure out.”

Kaidan lowered his lips to hers again. Sparks licked at his lips, and Selene’s tongue did, too, seeking his, pushing his lips gently apart. He was about to fly out of his skin. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck. She smelled like the minerals from the spring and lavender from their soap.

Selene might have said it first, but Kaidan still had trouble believing he was in bed with her. Naked. Her lips on his, her soft thighs cradling his hips. He lifted his head, and a long shock of his hair fell into her face. She laughed and pushed it back behind his ear.

And her smile faded.

To Kaidan, it seemed her face faded along with it…or, another face shimmered just on top of Selene’s. He blinked, and stared down into blond hair, rather than copper. Black eyes, rather than green—black-in-black, liquid and dull, like ink had spilled into red-rimmed eyelids. Kaidan blinked again. His arms and back and shoulders shook with the effort of holding still, and his heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

_No._ This was Selene. It had to be. It… _couldn’t_ be…

But a ghostly light glowed at the corner of her eye. Kaidan searched her face. It seemed to be…cracking. Red lines followed the cracks, erupting over her cheeks and her temples. Fire—shifting black embers and orange flickering flames—burned underneath her skin.

A cold sweat broke out over his back. Kaidan shivered. “Selene?” He choked out, his throat dry as dust. “Please…”

Her eyes loomed wide and blank, but her lips curved in a smile, and blood—dark and thick—poured from her mouth.

Kaidan’s stomach lurched. He pushed up onto his hands and jumped up from the bed and barely made it to the basin in the corner before emptying the contents of his stomach.

Behind him, wood creaked and footsteps padded across the floor. Hot breath whispered at his back.

“Oh, Kaidan,” a sultry voice purred.

It was the last thing he heard before the room spun and his world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did use Kaidan’s mod dialogue here, a bit. It’s too cute when he gets sassy. I did change a bit where the city has no ramparts on the walls, which is more a game design issue, I imagine, than something an actual city would neglect. 
> 
> And “which, she would be sleepy” is a movie quote, if it sounds at all familiar, and if any of you remember it, well...yay!


	14. Dragon Rising

Selene awakened with the feeling she’d lost something. Something precious. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She yawned and stretched, sliding her hands over the knobbly quilt. Kaidan’s side of the bed was smooth, flat.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and remembered.

She remembered jumping out of bed and kneeling next to his body crumpled under the basin. He’d hit his head and passed out—Selene wasn’t sure in which order. She’d splashed his face with a little water from the stoneware pitcher on the dresser, and he’d awakened.

She remembered the fear in his eyes. His shaking hands and ashen pallor as she’d healed the lump on his head. He’d not even argued. And he let her put him to bed like a child.

She remembered watching his back rise and fall as he’d slept on his side, turned to the wall. He’d made excuses—it must have been something he ate. He was embarrassed and didn’t want to talk about it. He’d feel better in the morning. And Selene hoped so.

But she remembered something else—he’d been looking straight at her when that lightning-struck terror turned his skin clammy and cold. When his smile had tightened to a death’s-grip rictus. The memory of it kept her awake far into the night. He’d looked at her like she was a stranger, and a terrifying one. It would have to be, to turn her dauntless warrior—a man who’d stared down his Thalmor captors without blinking, who’d relived their accounts of his torture in that damned diary—into a puking, shaking mess.

But…why? What had she done?

Selene pushed herself onto her elbows and craned her neck to look out the window. The sky was a brilliant blue—had to be mid-morning, at least. The kitchen would be finished with breakfast, but Hulda might take pity on her and make her tea while she tried to solve the mystery of Kaidan. She snagged a knitted throw from the foot of the bed and draped it over her chemise, and walked barefoot downstairs.

“Just cleaned the last of the breakfast away and set a chicken to roast,” Hulda confirmed, putting a hand to the small of her back and rising from the hearth. She gave Selene a once-over, her expression both curious and dismissive. “Perhaps you might take some tea…in your room?”

Selene met her eyes, refusing to allow even the slightest flush to color her cheeks. Anyone whose inn boasted communal bathing shouldn’t be offended by bare feet in an otherwise empty tavern. Her chemise draped to her ankles, after all, and the shaggy throw covered its low neckline. “Tea would be welcome, thank you,” she said with a smile, and climbed onto a stool at the bar. “And a sweet roll, if you have any left.”

“We might,” Hulda said, and poured hot water from a kettle into a stoneware mug. “Looks like you had quite a night. Is your young man coming back or did he set out for good?”

Selene froze. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t tell you his plans. Hm.” Hulda set the mug on the bar. “Came through before sunup in that fancy black armor. Carrying a bag. Lit out like he had somewhere else to be.”

Selene slid off the stool so fast it fell over, knocking into a table and sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Hey, watch it!” Hulda scurried around the bar. She bent down and grabbed a plate, and slammed it back on the table. “Come down here half naked and—“

Selene snapped her fingers just inches from Hulda’s face. “You’re telling me he left? Left town? Did he say where he was going?”

“No.” Hulda backed up, her expression icy. “And you might be a paying customer, but you can’t—“

Selene whirled around and ran back upstairs. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t have left her. No, there had to be something, something she’d missed. She threw open the cabinet doors—only one leather satchel sat on the shelf inside. She dumped its contents on the bed—the jewelry they never got around to selling, their bag of septims. Still there. She fell on her hands and knees and looked under the bed—nothing. Kaidan’s clothes, his armor. His bow and sword. All gone.

Her heart hammered in her chest for one beat, and another. And then, Selene dashed from the room and ran downstairs, her bare feet pounding on the inn’s sunny floor, past a blustering Hulda and out the door.

* * *

The man outside the stables sucked on a piece of straw wedged between his teeth and scratched his beard. “You know you’re barefooted, right?”

“Of course,” Selene said, simply. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tried to keep her temper. Her heels ached and her arches stung and she was afraid to see what the cobblestones had done to her toes. But she’d wasted far too much time explaining herself already. “The man in the black armor. You said you saw him?”

The man tilted his head down the road to the west. “Yup. Went that way. Didn’t ask for a ride, either. Course, he wasn’t wearing a nightgown,” he said, and laughed, the straw wagging up and down.

On foot. “Did you see if he stayed on the road?”

“Far as I could see. Nothing much going on just after dawn. I stood right here and watched him walk over the hill.”

“Please.” Selene closed her eyes and said a quick, silent prayer. “Can anyone take me down that road? I need to find him.”

He laughed and jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the empty stalls in the stable. “You see any carriages there? Or horses? They’re all spoken for today. Companions are training out past the watchtower, took everything we got.”

“Damn mercenaries,” she muttered, and looked back toward the gate and over the hills to the farmhouses lined up alongside the eastern road. There had to be someone in the city who could help. She might be able to charm a guard or a farmer, someone who owned a carriage or a horse.

She tried to stay calm, but how could she? Kaidan was gone. He’d left her. She hadn’t believed it until the stablehand told her he’d seen him take the road out of town. But the truth of it was ice around her heart. Her lungs refused to work and her legs were boneless, trembling blobs threatening to collapse to the ground. Darkness crept in around her vision, sprinkled with glaring pinpricks of light.

“You ‘right, miss?”

Selene jumped at the stablehand’s heavy hand on her shoulder. “I’m fine, thank you.” She stumbled on her sore feet and took a slow breath. Her vision cleared. “I need to find him. I need—“

The city gates slammed shut and hoof beats clopped on the cobblestones. Someone was riding their way. Selene pulled away from the stablehand and planted herself in the middle of the road.

A sleekly muscled black horse came into view, and an armored man with black, shaggy hair. The stablehand pulled at her elbow. “You want to get run over?”

“I want him to stop,” she said, shaking out of his grip and waving her arms over her head. “You could help, you know.”

The stablehand sent her an exasperated look, but threw his arms up and waved halfheartedly.

“Stop!” Selene called, stumbling down the cobblestones toward the slowing horse, its rider pulling gently on his reins. “Please!”

The rider was a giant of a man, and rode with a greatsword strapped to his horse. His black brows nearly met over his frown. “You in trouble?”

“I need a ride,” Selene said, her voice shaking. “West. Please. My friend is sick. Alone. I have to find him. Please,” she said again, and tears filled her eyes.

The man shrugged. In one smooth motion, he bent down and hooked his hands under Selene’s arms, lifted her up from the cobblestones, and plunked her in front of him on the saddle. Selene didn’t have time to be shocked. The man made a chirping noise with his tongue and teeth, and the horse took off. “Thank you,” she said, wincing as a rut in the road sent her head banging into the man’s chin. “For the ride.”

He made a grunting noise in his throat. “I’m going that way. You need a ride. It’s nothing.”

Selene scanned the fields as they passed, mostly lonely farmland. She wasn’t surprised—if Kaidan had been walking since dawn, of course he’d be further along. But he could be injured. He could have stopped to rest.

“I’m Farkas, by the way,” the man said, relaxing his hold over her ribs. “We—me and the rest of the Companions—we’re training past the old watchtower. About half an hour down the road, riding.”

“I’m Selene,” she said, frowning. Half an hour. They’d be lucky to run into Kaidan by the time Farkas had to stop. If they didn’t, she’d be stranded away from the city, barefoot and in her underthings. Her frown turned into a wry smile—Dibella was taking Her own sweet time getting Selene dressed this morning.

“Lucky for you I was late. Everyone else was gone, but I overslept.”

“How did they let you oversleep? Don’t you all live together?”

“Yeah,” Farkas said, and laughed. “But I didn’t sleep in my own bed last night. Doesn’t matter. They won’t be too mad.”

“Sounds like a good reason to me.” Selene listened to Farkas’s deepening laugh and closed her eyes, reaching out with her magic. Farkas was…easy. Simple. Like a wide river winding through a shady valley. She smiled and let his calm wash over her. Not that he’d stay calm, not if he had a reason to get excited. Any river would overflow its bed with enough rain. What Selene found under Farkas’s skin was a man who worked hard and played hard. If he wanted a dozen sweet rolls, he’d eat them. If he wanted to fight, he’d throw a punch. If he wanted sex, he’d find a partner—any number of partners, by the look of him—and he’d not worry about complications along the way, or anyone else’s opinion.

“So,” he said, and shifted in the saddle, “who’s this friend?”

“He’s…” Selene sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“More than friends, huh?”

“It was heading that way, I thought,” she said, and craned her neck at something moving off to the north. Just a deer. “He started out as my bodyguard. But we’ve been through a lot. We became friends, and then—“

“You said he’s sick?”

“He might be,” she said, and shrugged. “It’s either that, or kissing me made him vomit and pass out.”

Farkas snorted. “Well, couldn’t have been that.”

The horse picked up speed as they left civilization behind. Selene concentrated on the road, scanning hills and ruins and creeks and shaded spots for somewhere Kaidan might be walking. Or resting. It was a pretty country, Whiterun Hold, with its wide-open bright blue skies. Here and there, gray stone ruins dotted yellow fields, and red foxes peered at her from behind the remains of cobblestone roadway walls. It didn’t hold a candle to the Rift, of course. She hadn’t enjoyed her time there, under Ulfric’s baleful gaze, but she missed the beauty of its golden forests and broken, jagged mountains.

She’d take Kaidan back to the Rift for more sightseeing, if she found him.

Farkas cleared his throat. “I don’t know if this helps, but since he was your bodyguard, I thought I’d throw it out. Some people can’t stand feeling weak, especially around those they’re supposed to protect. And especially if it’s…complicated. It’s stupid, but some of us are stupid. Not saying your friend’s stupid, but…”

_I was your…protector._

Had he left believing he’d let her down? Selene didn’t want to think so. Nor did she want to believe it had anything to do with Mehrunes Dagon. She kept her eyes on the frustratingly empty hills and fields, and tried to keep her mind just as empty. After a length of time that could have been five minutes or an hour, Farkas spoke up. “We’re nearing the old watchtower. What do you want to do if you don’t find him? Want to go with me to the training field? I can go a little further.”

Selene opened her mouth to ask Farkas to keep going. But as they passed the watchtower, she saw a man sitting on the front steps. She couldn’t see his face, but the black armor and long black hair were unmistakable.

 _Kaidan_.

“Stop,” she said, her voice a low, dry whisper. She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Farkas, please!” She smacked his thigh. “Stop!”

“Hm?” Farkas pulled at the reins and the horse slowed. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t hear you there.” The horse slowed to a stop, only about fifty paces too far. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s there. He’s at that watchtower.” Selene looked back, around Farkas’s armored torso. If Kaidan noticed her riding by on a war horse he gave no indication, just sat on the stairs with his head in his hands.

Farkas wheeled around and nudged his horse to walk back. He motioned toward Kaidan with a finger. “That him?”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

“Want me to stay? Make sure things go ok?”

“No thank you,” she said, just before Kaidan looked up. And stood up. He looked as bleak as he had when he’d left the prison. And his stance was that of a man unsure whether to stay and face her or make a run for it. Selene gave him a level look and shook her head, just in case he thought he’d try it. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hold the reins,” Farkas said, and slid from the saddle, his boots thudding on the dirt road. “Alright, I’ll help you down.” Selene’s bare feet hit the ground. She winced, and Farkas grunted. “You sure you’ll be alright with this guy?” He spoke a little louder than he needed to. Selene thought it might be for her benefit. “He didn’t do such a great job of protecting you, by the state of you.”

Selene looked up into cool, silvery gray eyes. “That was my choice. I’d walk halfway across Skyrim and back for him,” she said ruefully, but smiled. “It’s ok. I have a little healing, I’ll be fine.”

Farkas gave Kaidan a stern look. “I’ll swing back by on my way home in case you need a ride,” he said—again, louder than he needed to—and got back on his horse and galloped behind the tower and across the field.

* * *

Kaidan wasn’t dreaming. Or hallucinating—Selene was there. In front of him, standing on the dirt road, and wearing what looked like her chemise. Her hair a tangled mess. Bare feet.

She’d never looked lovelier.

She took a stumbling step toward him, and it was like pulling back a bowstring. He ran down the steps of the old tower, across the road, and had her scooped up in his arms in a matter of moments. Her head rested on his chest, and all the time he’d walked, all the time he’d sat on those stone stairs melted away. Like he’d never left.

“Gods, Selene, your feet.” From the pads of her toes to her arches to her heels, they were covered in scratches and bruises. A gash, bloody and dirty, ran down the side of her right foot. He carried her back to the tower. “What were you thinking, running around barefoot?”

“I woke up and you were gone,” she pushed up to look him in the eye. “Do you really think I was going to take the time to dress properly before going after you?”

He paused with one foot on the bottom step. “You ran through Whiterun in your chemise?”

Selene grinned. “Hulda was scandalized.”

“You weren’t supposed to come after me at all,” he said, suppressing a grin of his own. He put her down on cold, stone stairs and sat next to her, pulling her feet into his lap. He winced. “I’d heal you, but I’ve never had a head for magic. Can you fix this?”

Selene cradled her feet in her hands, and had them completely healed in about five seconds. “That was the easy part,” she said. Kaidan didn’t say anything, just moved her feet from his lap and scooted over until there was plenty of space between them. Her face seemed to crumple. “How could you leave?”

“Selene—“

“No. After everything, after last night. How could you leave me like that? I was worried about you. I thought you might be hurt. Or sick.”

“You should go back now. You’ll be happier without me, and safer.” He leaned back against the chipped balustrade and closed his eyes. Godsdamned farm. He’d thought he could push his past away, deal with it later. But the ink-filled eyes, the black, bloody mouth he’d seen when he gazed at Selene proved him wrong. “I swear, Selene, I’m not the person you think I am. If you knew, you’d be disgusted at what we almost did last night. Disgusted you’d even slept by my side.”

“Well, that’s all very dramatic.”

Scorn dripped from her voice. He blinked in surprise and met her gaze. Scorn arched her brow and flashed in her eyes and forced a laugh from his throat. Gods, the thought of never hearing her voice again, at never seeing her, touching her. But…

“It might be dramatic, but it’s not a lie,” he said. Whatever she saw in his face turned her scorn to pity. “Save it. I don’t deserve it. You’ll wish you’d have left me at that prison.”

“So, why didn’t you keep walking, then? Hulda said you’d left at dawn. You should be miles away from here by now,” she said, and threw her arm out toward the road.

He’d sat on those stairs for hours, trying to muster the strength to keep walking. To get as far away from Selene as possible. And he’d failed miserably. But then he’d seen her on that big horse, her chemise flying out beside her like the white flag he’d resigned himself to raising. “I wasn’t strong enough to tell you the truth. Wasn’t strong enough to leave, either,” he said, and pulled off his gauntlets, setting them between him and Selene. “That’s part of it. I’m weak, always have been.”

Selene didn’t say anything. She just stared at her knees, her eyes glazed over, and bit absently at one corner of her mouth. For one horrified moment, he thought he’d actually persuaded her to let him go. But she lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes—a challenge. “Is there anything I can say to persuade you that none of this matters? That there’s nothing you can say to make me want you to leave?”

_The farm…_

_The fire…_

_Rosalind._

“No,” Kaidan said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Well then,” Selene said, picking up his gauntlets and setting them on the stair above them, “you’ll just have to tell me.” She held his gaze and gently placed her hands on his. “You’re strong enough. If you don’t believe in yourself quite yet, believe in me.”

Her words seemed to lift him right off the stairs. She wouldn’t stay with him, he knew that for a fact. But he could tell her the truth, and deal with her rejection. If nothing else, it might keep him from seeing again what he saw last night. Maybe he’d get to a place where he could finally begin to crawl out from under the crush of his past and pay his debts.

She was right—for the first time in his empty, wasted life, he would be strong enough.

“Alright.” He drew in a breath and let it out, heavy. “Earliest thing I remember is learning sword craft with Brynjar. Had this little wooden sword. Wasn’t long until he replaced it with steel. I told you already we moved around a lot. Never really had a home, but it was always him and me. So I had sort of a home,” he said, and glanced at her, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m rambling. I’ve never told anyone about this. Not sure where to start.”

“You’re doing fine.” She rested her elbow on the stair above, and rested her cheek on her hand.

“I’m not saying our life was bad. Or that it was perfect. It was just…life. And I got used to it. He was all I had. I was twenty when he died.”

Selene hesitated. Kaidan knew what she wanted to ask, and it wasn’t an easy question. “Brynjar drank a lot, even for a Nord,” he said, and copied Selene’s posture. “One night, dead of winter, I came home from hunting and he wasn’t there. We lived in a cabin south of Northpoint. Wasn’t usually cold, but that winter it had been. I looked for him and eventually found him. His body, at least. Looked like he’d passed out. Not a mark on him, but his flasks and horns smelled like brandy and gin, all empty. He froze to death, from what I could tell.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, softly.

“I was, too. He was the only home I ever had. We didn’t stay long enough—even in Betony—to feel part of anything. To know anyone. So when he died, I was alone,” he said, catching her eyes quickly and glancing away. “And I didn’t know how to be alone.”

“What did you do?”

“I drank,” he said, and shrugged. “Brynjar did it. All men did it, I told myself. But I’d be smart about it. Wouldn’t let things go too far. But of course I did. I didn’t know how to—“ He couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t find the words to explain how far he’d fallen. And why. Selene pushed away from the stairs and scooted close to him, leaning back against his chest. She pulled his arms around her. “Selene, that’s not going to help.”

“It will help,” she said. “It’ll help me. I’m cold. And since I came to find you, the least you could do is keep me warm.”

He wanted to touch her, but…it wasn’t a good idea. She was going to leave. It would only cause them both more pain. But as his gut twisted with that knowledge, the words he’d searched for suddenly came into his head. He let himself relax, let his hands rest on her belly. “I didn’t know how to live. I had woodcraft. I could hunt and fish, make my own bow. Build my own shelter. But I didn’t know how to just…be. Eventually, drinking wasn’t enough. I tried moon sugar. Skooma. Anything to help dull the edges.”

Selene snuggled closer to him, and the words kept pouring out.

“One bad decision led to another. I fell in with a bunch of bounty hunters—it’s how I learned the trade, and a few other things besides. The way they saw it, people like us had to make our own way in the world, and if that meant taking from people who had more than we did, that was only fair, yeah? Wealth redistribution, they called it. I was dumb enough to buy into it. I moved from drowning my sorrows to blaming everyone else, and that’s a dangerous way to think.”

“How so? You had a pretty rough life.”

“Maybe. But thinking every man for himself eats away at your empathy. Hurt whoever you want, because it’s either you or him, right?”

Selene gave a noncommittal murmur.

“But I didn’t realize that, then. Didn’t realize I was more alone than ever. Gods, I was so angry. At Brynjar for dying the way he did—he said it was up to him to make sure I didn’t die young, like my mother. Told me all my life how important she’d been, how brave and clever. How I had all her potential and more. And then he just left.”

“Sounds like he was sick.”

“I know that now. But then, all I had was anger—at him, at my mother, my father, whoever he was. Brynjar didn’t say. I don’t even know my own race, my own nationality. Brynjar died without giving me even that.”

“It’s understandable you were angry.”

“No, it wasn’t. Race? Nationality? What do those things even matter? Yes, I was young. But it wasn’t an excuse. Definitely not for…for what happened next.”

Selene went still. “You don’t have to tell me. I promise, it’s not going to change the way I feel.”

“It will.” It would. But that was the price he had to pay. The thought was strangely satisfying. “I can’t escape this, Selene. Not without consequences.”

“If you want to take a break…”

“No. If I stop now I’ll never get it out. And if you’re going to leave, I’d rather it be before I get used to having you in my arms again.”

She turned around to face him, her hands braced on his chest. Whitish green smudges ringed her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “Kaidan—“

“No,” he said, and cradled her again. It was too late—she fit in his arms so perfectly. “You’ve given me the strength for this. Let me do it.”

“Alright,” Kaidan said and took a deep breath, then another. “Me and the hunters, we spent our nights drinking, using skooma. Raiding, stealing. Killing, when someone got in our way. One night, we caught a bounty on what we thought was a bunch of bandits. It was a good bounty and we wanted it. But we paid for it. They killed every one of my crew, all but me. I was hurt pretty bad, but I managed to kill the leader. I passed out with my sword in his gut, and when I woke up, they offered me a place in their ranks.”

Selene snorted. “No hard feelings, eh?”

“They had a philosophy—the weak have to die to make way for the strong. If I managed to kill their leader, he deserved it.”

Selene shuddered against him.

“Yeah. So I stayed. I’d been killing people for money all along. Justifying it with bounties, but still. These people, though, killing was their creed—killing, destruction. Chaos. Sometimes they—we—got a little bloodthirsty, but we managed to justify it—us or them, they had it coming. And I was weak enough to believe it was alright.”

“And…” He looked out at the blue skies and fluffy white clouds, vast green and yellow fields. He wondered if he’d ever see them again, after Selene asked him to go. “There was a woman.”

Selene turned to face him again, her eyes wide.

“She was beautiful, of course. Powerful—a mage. Like the rest, she took what she wanted, and she decided she wanted me. And this was—Selene, you have to understand,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Gods he’d been so stupid. “No one ever wanted me. I was the boy with weird, red eyes. The boy who couldn’t read, who lived in a shack with a staggering drunk for a father. But she—her name was Rosalind—she wanted me. She didn’t mind about my eyes. She didn’t care that my manners were more suited to a wolves’ den than a dining table.”

Selene’s expression turned fierce. She lay a palm against his cheek. “Your eyes are beautiful. And there’s nothing wrong with your manners.”

Kaidan covered her hand with his own. “This doesn’t bother you? You can sit by me, beautiful and good as you are, and keep excusing what I did? Tell me you want to hear more?” His eyes burned and he blinked back tears. “Because there’s plenty more. I haven’t got to the worst part yet.”

“Is this…” Selene swallowed, and her eyes drifted downward. “Is this about what happened to your back?”

“What happened to my back…” Kaidan’s throat was suddenly parched. His heart thumped in his head and his vision darkened. And all he could see, all he could hear was the farm.

Fire. Laughter ringing high over cries, screams of pain. And Rosalind’s curving, crooked smile.

He pushed Selene away as gently as he could and stood up. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Kaidan,” Selene said, her voice high and shaking. “Stop. Just…stop. I know—“

“No,” he said. He backed down the stairs and held his palms out to hold her back. “You were wrong. I can’t. You can’t—“

“I already know about Mehrunes Dagon, Kaidan,” she said, quietly, and everything stopped—the screaming in his head, his heartbeat whooshing in his ears, even the breeze seemed to quiet when he looked at Selene.

She moved to grab his hands and he backed away. She couldn’t know about that. She couldn’t. Everyone who knew was dead. But he studied her face. Fear in her eyes, and something that looked like…shame. No surprise, that, having listened to his tale. But nothing that told him she lied. “How? How can you know?

“There’s a lot I have to tell you,” she said, and bit at the corner of her mouth again. “I haven’t been completely honest—“

The watchtower jolted and shook. Selene broke off with a tiny yelp and fell to the ground, like someone had pulled her legs from under her.

Kaidan reached out a hand up, but stumbled as the earth rumbled beneath his feet. He steadied himself and glanced around. _Mammoth_ was his first thought, and if one was on the way, they needed to get inside and out of sight. “Selene,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to stand, “up the stairs, come on.”

But she didn’t move. Just stared past Kaidan, above him, into the sky. Kaidan turned and followed her gaze, to where something flew, higher and higher, until it was hidden behind gauzy white clouds.

Something easily the size of a mammoth. Larger, even. His brain took a moment to register what that meant. His blood ran cold.

_A dragon._

A low, keening whimper escaped Selene’s lips. Kaidan pulled her closer. Her body shuddered against his. Kaidan bent down and scooped her up for the second time that day, and ran with her into the tower.

“Stay here,” he said, setting her gently on the stone floor and warily standing back up. “It might go away.”

Nothing happened for a minute, maybe two. He waited there, listening to Selene’s shallow breathing, scanning the sky outside the tower’s arched entrance. But he saw nothing but clouds in the sky. No dragon to speak of.

And then, the beast roared, flying so close to the watchtower they could feel the force of it. Shelves and old weapons racks fell off juddering walls, and something heavy thunked far above their heads. Kaidan grabbed his bow from his back and curved it, hooking the string. He pulled an arrow from his quiver. “Stay here,” he said, again.

“Why?” Selene’s panicked eyes met his. “Where are you going?”

“Relax,” he said, and pushed a curl back from her forehead. “I’m not going to fight it. I just want to get a closer look.” He gave her one last smile and tiptoed down the hall.


	15. A Delicate Thing That We Do

He was fighting a dragon. Shooting at a dragon. Contemplating what he’d do if the dragon landed in front of him—if he’d die well, and bravely, or shitting himself and crying.

Of course it’d be the latter.

He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to fight at all, that the dragon would pass by and fly on, minding its own business. But it seemed to think its business was right there, at the tower. At first, it ignored him, circling at a height and letting out whimpering roars, like a bear who’d scented its prey and couldn’t quite reach it. But in the end, it flew low enough to see him standing in the doorway, probably gawking in bewildered awe like the moron he was. He rolled away from its fiery breath just in time to see it scour the ancient arch, bits of smoldering moss raining down on the steps below.

To his mind, he had only one choice worth making—get a bit of distance between him and the tower, and drive the beast away from Selene.

So he’d made a run for it across the road and took cover under an ancient tumbledown wall. He’d landed at least one arrow in the dragon’s leathery wings, but it didn’t seem to slow it down any. Animals were weakest at the neck, under the ribs, dead in the eyes. Kaidan was a good marksman, but even he had little faith in his ability to blind a dragon, specially at the speed the beast was flying. He aimed and loosed his arrow anyway.

The dragon flew off with an angry roar, wheeling to the north and making ready to circle back. Kaidan pulled another arrow from his quiver, his heart racing. Odds were, he would die. But perhaps the dragon would fly off afterward and leave Selene alone. Thoughts of Selene drew his eyes to the tower. He jumped to his feet. She stood in the doorway, her hair and that pretty chemise she wore blowing in the wind.

“Get back inside!” He didn’t want to wave and call attention to her. If the dragon hadn’t seen her yet, there was no reason for it to attack. But she had to get under cover. “You’re in your nightgown, Selene,” he yelled, hoping the wind would carry his voice back to her. “Nothing you can do.”

Before he could gauge her reaction, the ground began to shake, and he readied his bow. But the dragon was nowhere in sight. Instead, a line of warhorses crested the ridge of the western road, galloping his way in a cloud of dust. As they came closer, he glimpsed the riders—armored and armed, warpaint striping their faces.

The lead rider slowed to a stop next to Kaidan, his massive black horse kicking up his feet in a restless dance. “Where’s Selene? Is she safe?”

Kaidan recognized the man who’d brought Selene, who’d criticized his ability to keep her safe. At the time, Kaidan had bristled, his pride already wounded and sore. But the man hadn’t been wrong. “She’s in the tower. Dragon hasn’t seen her yet.” He prayed to every Divine in existence he was right.

The man gave Kaidan’s bow an appraising look and drew his own. “Any hits yet?”

“Clipped a wing. Didn’t seem to faze it.”

“Name’s Farkas. Shitty time to meet new people, but…” he jerked his thumb at the rest of the warriors readying their bows from atop their mounts. “There’s fifty of us. We’ll see how the beast handles fifty arrows in its damned wing.”

Kaidan nodded, trying to keep relief at bay, keep his expectations low. Farkas’s words were brash, but his expression belied the grimness of the situation. They were fighting a dragon, a beast not seen for centuries. Any books handling first-hand experience with one were likely crumbling to dust, their contents dismissed and forgotten. Fifty warriors—even seasoned warriors—might be no match against a dragon. A shadow darkened the northern clouds, moving swiftly their way. “Here it comes again,” Kaidan said, and nocked his arrow.

“Companions,” Farkas called, “stand ready!” As one, the warriors drew.

So, those were the Companions. Emphasis on the _were_ , Kaidan thought with a grimace. Tough break for Skyrim, losing them all in one battle. But then again, if these beasts had decided to make Skyrim their own, what army stood a chance? Kaidan watched the beast circle overhead. He aimed and loosed his arrow. It joined fifty others in a tight volley that made its mark just under the beast’s silvery-green belly.

Farkas was right. Fifty arrows might not have brought the beast down, but it roared and veered to the south, smoke pouring from its snout. Kaidan readied another arrow. The dragon circled around quicker, its circle tighter. It was coming back, flying lower.

Kaidan gauged its path and his stomach sank—it was heading straight for the tower.

But why? The beast had an easy target right there in the road. What did it want with a ramshackle tower even humans had abandoned? Even if it _had_ seen Selene…

“Move!” Farkas called behind him, pointing to the field behind the tower.

Kaidan heard shouts and hoof beats and assumed the Companions obeyed, but didn’t stop to look. He sprinted across the road and planted himself in front of the watchtower stairs. If he stayed still, and the beast flew even lower, he might be able to spear an eye. Surely that sort of injury would drive the dragon away. _And Selene would be safe._ He took a long, deep breath and waited until he could see the beast’s silvery eyes and feel the wind coming off his wings. He let go of his breath along with his arrow.

But the dragon let go of its own breath at the same time, breath and fire—and aimed a torrent of it straight at him. Kaidan lurched to the side again and tried to evade, but this time he was too slow. Roaring flames washed over him and stole the breath from his lungs as he rolled over, wheezing and shuddering, on his knees in the grass.

Bile rose to his throat as flames licked at his shoulders and neck, creeping beneath his armor to sear his back, his legs. His arms were frozen with pain, he couldn’t reach the leather ties of his cuirass. He could do nothing, nothing but wait. So he curled into a ball, singed grass scratching at his face, and waited for the second wave of agony—for the heat to penetrate his skin, his muscles, into his bones. He knew it wouldn’t be a long time coming. He knew that all too well.

“Kaidan!”

_No_

“Kaidan…” She called out again, her voice at once the most beautiful and terrifying thing he’d ever heard.

“Selene,” he gasped. “Stay—“

He broke off in a fit of coughing and peeled open his eyes. She ran toward him, a hazy blur of fluttering white linen, and knelt at his side. Her shade felt blessedly cool on his face. The scent of her sweet skin drove away the stench of scorched metal and burning hair, and filled his senses with _her_. And he was grateful, he was. But she had to go. He opened his mouth, his lips cracking. “Get…back—“ 

“Kaidan, no!” Selene’s voice was garbled and thick, like she was underwater.

Her fingers yanked at the laces of his cuirass. He tried to shake her off. “Get back,” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. His head swam and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Tower—“

But he gagged on his useless words as the fire—and the pain he’d awaited—sank into his skin, into his bones like knives, slashing him open, tearing him apart. Cooking him alive inside his armor. The very blood in his veins seemed to boil, surging through his body, ravaging his flesh from the inside out.

“Selene…” he tried again, but the breath in his lungs roared through his words, stinging his throat and rattling his teeth as it escaped in a ragged scream.

He tried to grit his teeth and hold it back. But once he began to scream, it was all he knew—all he knew, all he was, all he’d ever be—his life reduced to that shattering whine in his ears, that red-burning glare behind his eyelids.

And then, all at once, the red blinked out, and all he knew was black.

* * *

Kaidan drifted along on a sea of black. Darkness, cool and soft, lay gentle against his closed eyes. He blinked, and opened them to…nothing. No sound, no light, nothing above his head or under his feet. The pain of being burned alive had long faded, along with the sound of his scream.

Since the farm, Kaidan had expected his life to end in fire and fear, but he’d expected retribution long into the afterlife as well. Nothingness and silence, if that’s what he’d somehow earned, seemed a welcome respite. If only…if only he knew what happened to Selene. If only he could be sure she’d made it back to the tower after he died.

As soon as her name crossed his mind, a light, not too far away, began to flicker in the black. And there, her head bowed amid its soft glow, knelt Selene. A knife twisted in Kaidan’s heart—did this mean she’d not made it to safety? Had she died running to his side? He closed his eyes against the shame of it, but the light grew brighter, gold against the inside of his lids, and compelled him to see.

She was beautiful, of course. And completely naked but for an amulet—a shimmering, light pink lily resting between her breasts.

He opened his mouth to call her name, but shut it when he saw she wasn’t alone. A woman walked out of the darkness, and knelt in the pool of light.

Kaidan only saw the back of her. She was naked as well, statuesque and curvy. Her skin seemed lit from within, glowing with the same light that surrounded Selene. Hair the shade of a midnight sea, spangled with silvery stars, drifted to the small of her back and waved softly around her waist, as though blown by a gentle breeze. Her hips and bottom curved invitingly, the precise shape of a perfectly carved lute.

Kaidan frowned, puzzled. This woman wasn’t—she couldn’t be—human. What did such a creature want with Selene?

But Selene seemed to know her. She looked up, her eyes shimmering, pleading. “I can’t heal him,” she said, her voice like a bell in the silence. “It’s not enough. I don’t have the magic, I don’t have the power. He’s hurt, he’s dying. Please…”

The black-haired woman tipped Selene’s chin with her fingertips, and said something Kaidan couldn’t understand. Something that overflowed Selene’s eyes and sent tears down her face.

“I can’t fight a dragon,” Selene said, and batted the woman’s hand away. “I told you before, I don’t have any weapons.”

Kaidan tried to drift closer, but his body or whatever existed in this darkness refused to move. If this was his afterlife, the powers that be had chosen a perfect punishment—let him see Selene, let him feel her sorrow. And let him fail her as utterly and completely as he had in life.

“I love him,” Selene said, her voice rising. “I can’t lose him.” Her eyes hardened to emeralds. “I won’t lose him.”

Kaidan drew in a sharp breath.

_I love him._

His mind raced. She didn’t know him, the things he’d done. He hadn’t had time to explain. She couldn’t...love him.

Could she?

The black-haired woman stilled, just for an instant. Her back stiffened and even her perfectly-flowing hair seemed to rest motionless against her skin.

In one fluid, perfect motion, she rose and turned her head to look straight at him.

Kaidan stared, breathless. She was impossibly beautiful. Her eyes shone like firelit sapphires. Her cheeks flushed sun-kissed pink in her perfectly heart-shaped face. Her lips curved in a smile, as rich and ripe as strawberry jam. But even more alluring was the power that tumbled off her in waves, like the rich, heady scent of a tropical flower.

Power, and…passion. When her eyes locked onto his, he felt—no, he _knew_ —there was no task he couldn’t accomplish. Scale Snow Throat in the dead of winter. Go back to Whiterun and kill the dragon with his bare hands. _Save Selene._

Kaidan looked away, looked for Selene, but she was gone. “Where is she?” He turned back with what must be frantic eyes. “Send me back,” he begged, struggling against the darkness. He didn’t know who or what this woman was, but he had no doubt she had the power to do what he needed. “Let me help her.”

“I told Selene once, _an ordinary love is not in your stars.”_ This time, Kaidan understood. Of course, her musical, whiskey-smooth voice was just as lovely as the rest of her. Just as powerful. “I say the same to you, now.”

“If there’s a way to send me back, please—“

“Do you love her? Do you love Selene?”

She turned the full force of her brilliant gaze on him. Kaidan felt warm to his very toes. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. She can’t love me,” Kaidan said, and shook his head. “She can’t. This can’t be real. Her, you…”

“Bah,” she said. “Reality. What is reality but what we make? And love is not about the past, but the present. And the future.” She took a step toward Kaidan. Her hair curled gracefully around her hips, fluttered gently over her breasts. “So when I ask if you love Selene, I’m not asking how you feel about her. But what you will do for her.”

Kaidan closed his eyes. What he would do for Selene. “I tried to leave. For her. I thought it would be best.”

The woman’s expression, though still beautiful, grew fearsome. Terrible. Kaidan shivered. “And I understand why,” she said. She reached out and pushed his hair from his forehead. Her fingers brushed his temple. “I see whose mark you bear.”

Kaidan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t think that was a simple tattoo, did you?”

Of course it was a simple tattoo. He shrugged. “What else would it be?”

She shook her head slowly. “A priestess of Mehrunes Dagon marked you while chanting her lord’s true name. Marked you with ink containing the blood of a living sacrifice.”

Kaidan blinked. He remembered the day Rosalind had offered to tattoo his face. She’d told him she found tattoos sexy. He’d been at the skooma pipe all evening, but he’d have gone along with it even if he’d been stone cold sober—anything to please her.

When she’d cut her own vein and mixed her blood with the ink, it hadn’t crossed his mind to object—if Rosalind was a bit dark, she made up for it in other ways. And when she’d sung an odd, creepy little song while she’d worked, in a language he’d not understood, he hadn’t thought anything amiss—as long as he’d known her, she’d been more than a little eccentric.

Truth was, he’d not given the situation a lick of thought after she’d finished, after she’d shown him exactly how sexy she found his new tattoo.

Bile rose in his throat, and he hid his face in his hands. “Oh, Gods.” He’d been so, so stupid.

But there was nothing else for it. “Don’t send me back.” He swallowed the vomit creeping up the back of his throat and met the woman’s gaze. “If what you say is true, I’ll only put her in danger. I wasn’t strong enough to leave. Save her, please, but keep her away from me.”

The woman smiled, and Kaidan closed his eyes. He would go on to whatever afterlife he’d merited. But Selene would be safe. And loved, and happy. He brought her image to mind and held it—her love-lit eyes, her smile, her copper curls drifting in a warm breeze.

_Hold it tight. Don’t let go…_

And he waited.

But nothing happened. He peeked, just a crack. His face burned as he watched her shake her lovely head, sadness softening her face. In that moment, she appeared almost human. “It’s not that easy, Kaidan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Selene touched the mark. Through you, she touched the realm of Mehrunes Dagon. Dagon knows her. If you leave her, you leave her alone. Unguarded. With his eye upon her.”

 _Dagon knows her._ Kaidan felt as though his limbs had turned to stone.

“This is why I ask what you would do for Selene. If you love Selene. You said to her once, you weren’t a man comfortable with being in debt.”

He glanced up at her, sharply. Who was this woman? How did she know these things?

“Relax, Kaidan,” she said, and laughed. “I don’t see everything. But it’s my duty to watch over Selene.” She held her hand out, her fingers beckoning. “Will you help me?”

Kaidan was almost ashamed of his eagerness, how quickly he took her hand. It should have been a harder decision, fraught with guilt and torture and brooding melodrama. But all he could think about was Selene. Seeing her again. “I love her,” he said, simply. “I do. I will.”

She drew him into an embrace, then, drew him close. Her breasts soft against his chest, her cheek like down against his temple. The stars sparkling in her midnight hair shone brighter, and the light around them both suddenly blazed, so dazzling Kaidan shut his eyes against the golden glare.

In that moment, Kaidan knew. He knew everything—who She was, who Selene was, every role they had to play…

And how it all would end.

Excitement fluttered in his chest. “Will I remember this?”

She touched a kiss to his forehead. “You will remember the important parts. You love Selene, and she loves you. In the end, what else matters?”

* * *

Kaidan blinked into the sun and slowly opened his eyes. 

_Pain_.

It throbbed at his back, his neck, the backs of his thighs.

His eyes snapped open wide. He was alive. He couldn’t be, but...he _was_. He wiggled his fingers and lifted his arms and winced. The pain didn’t lie. It was bearable, though. Bearable enough that he could breathe without screaming. And if he could breathe, he could speak. He rolled his eyes up and back—Selene still knelt over him, her fingers running softly through his hair.

There was still time.

“Selene, go back. Please,” he said, running the back of his hand over her cheek. “You have to leave me. If I’m going to die, I want to die knowing you’re safe.”

But Selene shook her head and rolled her eyes upward. Kaidan followed her gaze to a shadow passing overhead. He tried to sit up and nearly blacked out from the pain.

“Selene, please—“

“Shh…” she helped him lower his head to the grass. “We’re going to be fine.”

He blinked. Of course she’d say that. But the dragon still stalked them, and the Companions’ arrows couldn’t bring it down fast enough to save them.

Something buzzed near his temple. He waved it away. “Selene…” But the buzzing didn’t stop. He frowned, his gaze darting from side to side. Something surrounded them, him and Selene. A golden light, a dome, faintly humming with power.

 _Magic_.

No. He dug his clenched fingers into his palms, stomping out his last flame of hope. Whatever magic this was, it couldn’t last forever. And now the dragon had seen her…

They didn’t have time to hope.

“Gods, Selene. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, looking into her apple-green eyes. They shimmered with tears. His own eyes burned. “I should have stayed with you at the inn. If I had—”

Selene touched her lips to his. A warm tear rolled down his cheek—whether it was his or hers, Kaidan didn’t know. He kissed her, long and deep. So long and so deep that when he finally took a breath, it felt wrong. Cold. Unnecessary. All he needed was her—the warmth of her, the taste…

He’d wasted so much time.

“I love you,” he said, and something fluttered in the back of his mind. Nudging him. Something important. Something…else. But what else was there? He smiled against her lips and kissed her again. “I love you.”

She lifted her head and gave it a tiny shake. “I told you, Kaidan, we’re going to be fine,” she said, and smiled. “Matter of fact, in a few moments, that dragon’s going to wish it had never been born.”

Kaidan laughed, and winced. Gods, it hurt. Everything hurt. He was going to die, but he got to spend his last moments defying death with the woman he loved. He’d even had time to tell her so.

But Selene didn’t seem the least bit worried. Matter of fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was buzzing with excitement.

“Watch this,” she said, and raised her hands over her head. She closed her eyes. The golden dome above them shimmered and shook and finally retracted completely, forming a golden ball that floated over her palms. She took a breath and let it out, and the golden ball erupted into a spear of dazzling light. It streamed into the sky where the dragon hovered, and pierced its belly as if it were a fireplace poker.

The beast screamed, a guttural scream, and flapped its wings. Kaidan’s mouth fell open as he watched it kick its legs in desperation, listened to its roars turn into whines as its lifeblood dropped to the earth below.

Where had she learned how to do that?

“I’m going to heal you now.” Selene’s spear of light grew brighter, blazing like a small sun against the writhing dragon. She glanced down at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, and bit at the corner of her lip. “This will hurt.”

Kaidan barely had time to process his confusion before Selene’s little sun blazed brighter. Larger.

And closer.

He squeezed his eyes shut just before the light surrounded him, before it pierced through his armor, his skin, his bones, right into his heart.

_This will hurt._

She’d said the same thing at the prison, before she’d healed him. And it had, but this—

This was ten times worse. A hundred times. Once again, his world dissolved into red, glowing pain, but he clenched his teeth and bore it. He couldn’t let it stop him from seeing Selene—the power lighting her eyes, the slightly menacing curve of her smile.

He watched, through splayed fingers and barely open lids, gasping for breath and gritting through the pain, watched the dragon give one more weakling kick and scrabble for purchase in the unforgiving sky. And he watched it fall to the ground in a graceless heap.

The earth shook. And everything stilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone plays Skyrim with EnaiSiaion’s Ordinator and Apocalypse, you probably recognize the spell Selene’s using. Infinite Light with the False Light perk. Yes, it’s terribly OP, but it’s one of my favorite things to do in the game. And no, Selene won’t be able to use it all the time. But there’s a good reason she could this time, so stay tuned. :)


	16. Promises Kept

Kaidan lay in the grass and let a dusty-scented breeze play across his face. The sun was warm, but not too warm—just about perfect for an autumn day. White clouds skittered across a perfect, cornflower-blue sky.

Perfect all around, really. No complaints. Especially given the fact he’d nearly burned to death. He should be dead, once, and twice over. He knew it as clear as he knew his own name. But there he lay, hale and hardy and bloody comfortable…like a man without a care, napping after a picnic lunch.

He had Selene to thank for his current level of comfort, he knew that too.

What he didn’t know was…how?

Where had Selene learned that trick, with the light? And what was it anyway? He remembered the golden light from the dome above their heads, he remembered it winding up into a shining golden ball. And then, into that spear...

How light turned from a shield into a weapon, and then into magic for a healing, he didn’t understand.

A soft moan sounded somewhere near his belly and vibrated over his armor. He brushed his hand against the motion and his fingers tangled in a mass of something gossamer, soft.

 _Selene_.

He glanced toward his feet and saw her lying on his chest, her face relaxed in what looked like peaceful sleep. Kaidan didn’t remember her falling asleep on his chest after the dragon had tumbled from the sky. Then again, he’d been fighting unconsciousness, himself.

He carefully pulled his fingers free and pushed himself up to sit, gathering Selene into his arms. Her head rested in the crook of his elbow. Her chest rose and fell nice and steady, and her cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

“Selene!”

Kaidan looked up at the sound of a woman’s voice, and footsteps shuffling over the grassy field. Someone was running toward them, tall and broad under ebony armor, with closely-cropped red hair. One of the Companions.

“Gods. Selene,” the woman called again, quieter this time, as she sank to the ground at her side.

One crystal-blue eye pored over Selene, looking for injuries. The woman’s other eye was milky white. A long red scar ran down her forehead, through the eye and down her cheek. Puffy, healing burn marks feathered her neck. Kaidan winced, knowing exactly how the getting of such a badge of honor must have felt.

Selene hadn’t included the eye or the burns in her description of her bodyguard, the one she’d lost in the dragon attack at Helgen, but the woman’s height and smooth, red helmet of hair were unmistakable. “Are you Myka?”

The woman looked at him, wild-eyed. “What happened to her?” She ripped off a gauntlet and touched two fingers to Selene’s neck, just below her jaw. Kaidan watched relief wash over her face, watched her shoulders slump around a heavy exhale.

“Using magic makes her sleepy,” he said, and frowned. “But I’ve never seen her use magic like that.”

“I’ve never seen anyone use magic like that.” Her wild eyes turned steely. Appraising. She slipped her gauntlet back over her fist. “Who are you?”

“Kaidan. I’m Selene’s…friend,” he said, laughing softly over the word. It seemed woefully inadequate, after their kiss. After they’d nearly died in each other’s arms. After what he’d told her.

_I love you._

The memory of her lips on his brought everything rushing back—the strange rightness of his words, even in the midst of all the chaos, the joy in her eyes…

_But she didn’t say it back, did she?_

Kaidan shoved the tiny voice into a compartment deep inside his brain, to join everything else he didn’t want to deal with. It was growing crowded in there. “She told me about you, what happened at Helgen. She asked about you at the temple, in Whiterun, but the priestess didn’t remember you.”

Myka tapped the cheek below her milky eye. “I wasn’t hurt so bad. Convalesced in Riverwood.”

“Losing your eye isn’t so bad? You’re every bit as tough as she said you were.” Selene let out a soft murmur. Kaidan took off his own gauntlet. He ran the backs of his fingers over her temple to the line of her jaw.

“Just a friend, are you?”

He shrugged at the cheek in her tone. Selene trusted Myka, so would he. Besides, he was tired of fighting. “I’ll be whatever Selene needs me to be.”

Myka let out a long, low whistle. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Selene forestalled her by stirring. She stretched, her arms pushing up and out, her back arching like a cat’s. She whispered something soft and low and unintelligible, and her eyes fluttered open.

Her gaze met Kaidan’s first, the sleepy smile he’d waited on for what seemed like hours sending a splash of cool relief down his spine. She lifted her hand and placed a sun-warmed palm against his cheek.

“Welcome back,” he said, and touched a kiss to her forehead. His stomach fluttered. If he could do magic, he’d snap his fingers and send them both somewhere warm and safe and secluded, where he’d never have to let her go again. But she’d worried about Myka for weeks. So he slowly tipped his head toward Myka, but kept his eyes on Selene—he couldn’t wait to see the happiness on her face “Here’s someone else who’s been waiting on you to wake.”

Selene looked puzzled, but let him lead her gaze. Her lips trembled and tears filled her eyes. “Myka. Oh Gods.” She sat up in Kaidan’s lap and pulled Myka into a tight hug. “You’re here. You’re alive. Gods,” she said again, and pulled back. Her eyes grew wide. “Your eye. Was that—”

“Helgen, yeah.” Her gaze darted between Kaidan and Selene. “Fortunately, my fight was with a collapsing building, not the dragon,” she said, a wry grin stretching her lips. “Otherwise, I’d have lost a lot more than an eye.”

“You saved my life,” Selene said, running the back of her hand over Myka’s cheek. “I am so sorry. It’s all my fault. If I’d just stayed in Markarth—“

“No.” Steel hardened Myka’s voice. “Don’t do that. I was doing my job, and it was my honor to do it,” she said, and winked. “Besides, I match Argis now, right?”

Selene’s eyes grew even wider, and she burst into tears. Myka allowed Selene to pull her into another hug. She sighed and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Argis is a friend,” she explained, her eyes not quite meeting Kaidan’s. “A city guard in Markarth. Lost his own eye in a skirmish with the Forsworn.”

A sliver of jealousy twisted in his gut. Kaidan couldn’t remember if Selene had ever mentioned an Argis, but he wasn’t surprised she had friends back in Markarth—lovers too. Hopefully, one day, there’d be enough peace and quiet—and wine—for the both of them to speak honestly and at length about their pasts, the good as well as the bad. And if he did feel a bit uneasy about an old lover of Selene’s, he hoped it didn’t show.

Myka tapped Selene on the back and gently pulled out of the embrace. A bit of gold embroidery at Selene’s shoulder caught on her armor. Myka slid it between her fingers. “Divines,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “Must you always be the best dressed woman at every dragon attack?”

Selene let out a loud hiccup, and her tears turned to laughter. Kaidan joined in, but a moment later, a shiver ran across his shoulder blades and up his neck, and his laughter tapered off. He sat in silence, Myka and Selene’s conversation fading to a dull buzz. 

Her dress.

It was lovely, of course. Its gold-embroidered neckline bared the tops of her breasts, and thin ropes of the same gold stuff lay over her shoulders, leaving her arms bare as well. The top was made of some rough material, like creamy, sparkling gems fitted together to make a second skin over Selene’s ribs and waist. He didn’t know much about fancy fabrics, but the skirt was sleek and sheer under his hands, a bright combination of colors—dark red and orange and gold that sort of melted into each other. All over a black underskirt.

He frowned. His breathing felt shaky. Selene had on a white linen chemise before, he was sure of it. He remembered the gauzy garment well— flying in the breeze while she’d ridden up on Farkas’s horse, and brushing against his cheek while he’d lay on the grass, burning up inside his armor.

When had she changed clothes?

Memories surfaced, like a gallery of paintings paraded through his brain. Things he’d noticed before—trivial, everyday things—but never questioned. Why would he? But now, they were all he could see. Selene, her smooth, golden skin shimmering beneath that lace dress she’d worn at the prison. Selene, by the fire that same evening, wearing a soft, fuzzy red dress and cooking the rabbit they’d cleaned together mere minutes before. He remembered wondering when she’d had time to change clothes, but…he’d had other things on his mind. And the next morning, of course he’d noticed her traditional Breton gown, full-skirted over layers and layers of black lace petticoats.

Kaidan swore under his breath—if she’d stuffed a dress like that into one of those little leather satchels, he’d eat that dragon.

He sneaked a glance at Selene, at her happy smile, her sunlit eyes. Sure, he was making a big deal out of nothing, wasn’t he? Maybe they were there in the satchel, all of them. He’d check when they got back to their room at the inn. Maybe he’d missed one or two rolled up in the bottom of the satchel he’d left at the tower. 

_Her footwear as well?_

His heart skipped and plummeted like a stone. No, her sturdy leather boots wouldn’t have fit in that satchel. Not alongside the slippers she’d worn with the Breton gown, and her gold sandals. Damned if he’d forget those—her feet were the first part of Selene he’d seen at the prison, shimmering in the torchlight, spots of brightness amid all the blood and filth.

Always clean, she was. Never wrinkled, never mussed.

_There’s a lot I have to tell you. I haven’t been completely honest…_

Kaidan felt sure she wasn’t about to confess her clothing was magical, and felt a bit stupid even thinking it. What did it matter, anyway? He knew she had magic. So she liked a set of clean clothes every day. It wasn’t a crime. But what if…

_I already know about Mehrunes Dagon._

His head spun. Selene knew about his past—a past she _could_ _not_ know about. She had hidden magical depths, judging from the strength of that golden light—she’d killed a dragon with her bare hands. No, without even using her bare hands! And adding to the mix…the power to magic up a closet of beautiful clothes?

All together, it was something to contemplate.

The earth shook. Kaidan glanced up, startled. But it was only Farkas, running across the field with all the grace of a stalking bear. “Myka. Come on back. Vilkas wants us all there to study the dragon. Find weaknesses,” he said. He frowned down at Selene and waved a hand in her direction. “That’s not what you had on earlier, is it?”

Kaidan stifled a laugh. Farkas had noticed. Farkas, who’d only met Selene that morning.

Myka pushed herself up to stand with a groan. “You two coming?”

Kaidan wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to see the dragon. Who didn’t want to examine a legendary beast, especially one he had a small part in bringing down? But more than anything, he wanted to be alone with Selene.

Selene pinched Kaidan lightly on his wrist. “We’ll be over in a few minutes,” she said, leaning back into the crook of his arm.

That made it easy. He watched Myka and Farkas trot back across the field, and cleared his throat. “You feel ok? Had to be a lot of magic you used.”

“I’m fine. It…it wasn’t exactly my own magic.” Selene threaded her fingers through his and sighed. Rough patches on his skin caught against the sheer fabric of her dress.

“Whose magic was it?”

Kaidan’s heart measured the silence for half a score of beats. “The dragon’s,” she finally said, and locked her gaze with his. When she’d unleashed the weapon of light that killed the beast, she’d seemed a lot more secure, more sure of herself. But now, her eyes pleaded with him, like she wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure how to find the words.

_I haven’t been completely honest…_

Well, neither had he, and that was the crux of it. He was no stranger to the struggle to speak what was on his heart.

_I’ll be whatever Selene needs me to be._

So, he would be. Not that he didn’t have questions, but she’d been more than willing to give him time. He could do the same for her. “Well, without you I wouldn’t be here. So, however you did it, I owe you my life. Again.”

“I told you already. A gift doesn’t come with a debt.” Selene lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair, just above his ear. Her eyes crinkled. “Oh!”

“What’s wrong?”

She tugged gently at his hair. “Your hair got burned. Sections of it,” she said, a little pout turning the corners of her mouth down. “I guess it’s not something I can heal.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He’d smelled burning hair and scorching armor during the fight, and figured he’d have to get sections of his cuirass repaired. He ran a hand over his head. His braids were both intact, over his temples. But Selene was right—much of the back of his hair had burned off, right at the nape of his neck. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “I’ll have someone cut it off when we get back to town.”

Selene smiled a shaky smile and lifted her hand to his jaw. “I remember when we first met. After you climbed out of the river. I saw you, you know,” she said, looking a little guilty. She ran her fingers through his hair again. “I went to hand you that sheet to dry off, and you were standing there facing away from me, in the shadows. In the mist. All that black hair falling down your back. You looked like some fairy creature. So beautiful.”

Kaidan’s heart thumped. “It’ll grow back,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“It’s not that. I’m just,” she sniffed, and a tear spilled down her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. Hearing you scream was…” she swiped at her tears. “Oh, Gods. You were dying. And I couldn’t heal you. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Shhh…” Kaidan gathered her against his chest, tears stinging his own eyes. “But you did. We’re both here because you did. And if you had to take that dragon’s magic to do it, I say well done.”

Selene grazed her lips over the back of his hand and looked up at him, her eyes dark and shining. “We still need to talk—“

“Hey!”

Kaidan and Selene both started. Kaidan squinted across the field to where Farkas stood, waving his hands over his head. “Come see this,” he said, motioning toward the dragon. “Looks like magic.”

Kaidan sighed. “I suppose we did just bring down a dragon,” he said. “Or you did, at least. Most of the work, anyway.” He rose with Selene in his arms, and set her gently down before taking her hand. “Might as well go see it.”

She frowned up at him. “We do need to talk, though. Soon.”

Kaidan nodded. “Soon.”

Twenty paces from the beast, Kaidan knew something was off. Putrefaction drifted from the carcass in waves, a level of rot suggesting it had been dead for days rather than mere minutes. “You smell that?”

Selene nodded, her other hand to her nose. Underneath the rot was something worse, if that was even possible. He sniffed and tried to keep from gagging. “Smells like Cyrelian’s robes.”

“Well, this is my first dead dragon,” she said. “Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, of sorts. Keep people from messing with their corpses.”

Kaidan snorted. “Can’t imagine too many people would get the chance.”

Selene shrugged. “They were extinct, weren’t they?”

As they approached, a man who looked like a shorter, foxlike version of Farkas stood up from where he’d been inspecting the dragon’s wing, half a dozen bloody arrows in his hand. He waved them absently toward Selene. “Myka says you know magic, that it was you who conjured the gold light that weakened the beast. What’s going on with it? It looks like it’s still alive.”

Selene paid no attention to him, just shook out of Kaidan’s grip and strolled around the dragon, her wispy skirts blowing in the breeze.

“Doesn’t smell like it,” Kaidan muttered. He assumed the short Companion was Vilkas, given what Farkas had said earlier. He didn’t want to get too close—the beast truly smelled horrible. But Vilkas was right—the dragon’s body was vibrating, almost like it was still breathing, and it gave off heat like a banked fire. Kaidan squinted and shaded his eyes. “Is that smoke? Coming from its body?”

Vilkas nodded. His narrowed eyes followed Selene. “Looks like it. But no fire. Lots of unanswered questions here. Do you know what that light was? I’ve never seen that sort of magic before.”

Vilkas didn’t care for magic, or magic-users, that much was plain. Kaidan didn’t blame him. Aside from Selene, he didn’t have a good track record with mages. But he certainly wasn’t going to give this man anything to use against her. “Selene’s a healer. She healed me with that light. As for what it did to the dragon, I didn’t ask. And I don’t care,” he said, and glanced at Vilkas askance. “You didn’t lose anyone, did you?”

He grudgingly shook his head and shrugged. “Can’t imagine every battle’s going to be that easy.”

Kaidan squatted before the beast’s slack-jawed maw. “Hey Selene, you see that smoke? Anything look off, magic-wise?”

But Selene paid no attention. Her eyes were locked on the dragon, and she spoke in rapid, breathy whispers. Kaidan listened, but understood nothing of what she said. She tipped her head to one side. He rose, and a shiver played just below his neck.

_The wall._

This was what she looked like—the unblinking eyes, the whispers, tilting her head like she was listening to secrets no one else could hear—just before she’d touched that wall. “Selene?” Kaidan rested a hand at the small of her back and followed her as she walked, trancelike, into the black, oily smoke drifting from the dragon’s body.

Kaidan coughed and untied the sash from the waist of his cuirass. He held the unburnt section over his mouth and nose. Selene didn’t seem bothered by the smoke at all. She simply walked on, stopping only when her skirts brushed the beast’s wing. For a moment, nothing happened. And then, the beast’s vibration quickened, and the earth shook beneath them. The dragon shuddered in the middle of thick, black smoke that no longer drifted, but whipped around them in high spirals, blown aloft by winds that seemed to come out of nowhere. And under the smoke, flickered dark orange flames.

“No!” Vilkas yelled, running back into the smoke like a madman. “Get the rest of the arrows! Note where they landed. The beast’s burning up, we have to know how to kill the next one.” He stumbled around the dragon, yanking arrows where they stuck out of the wings and neck and belly. He coughed and gagged, but kept working. “Move!”

Myka and Farkas and a few others followed suit, and Kaidan was tempted to see if his own arrow had struck the dragon’s eye at all, but the flames were burning higher and hotter. He’d had enough fire for one day. “Selene, let’s step back,” Kaidan said, and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, meaning to pull her back from the fiery, smelly mess. But she grabbed his hand and, as she had before, threaded her fingers with his.

“No,” she said, smiling up at him. He swallowed hard—her eyes shone like emeralds, bright with power. “Stay with me.”

The Companions finally gave up on retrieving their arrows and moved back. He heard their warnings, heard Myka screaming for Selene. “Love, we have to go,” he called, and tried to scoop her up and carry her back, if she wouldn’t move on her own. But he couldn’t budge her—it was like she’d been planted there, rooted to the spot. She didn’t even react when he tried to pick her up. The shiver playing at his neck turned to ice.

More magic.

The fire was getting higher, closer. Panic slammed into his chest. But he wouldn’t leave her, he couldn’t. Not again. He took a shallow breath filtered through his sash, and peered through the smoke. The dragon’s body wasn’t just burning, it was breaking apart. And as it broke, more flames flickered under its skin. The beast was burning from the inside out. 

Someone gripped his bicep and tugged. Kaidan blinked, and wiped soot and gunk from his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing, the both of you?” Myka’s hawklike gaze slid over Selene’s rapt expression. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Magic.” The word caught in his throat. Kaidan wheezed and caught another shallow breath. “I can’t move her. I’ve tried.”

Myka frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it,” he rasped. “Try to pick her up. If you can move her, I’ll owe you big.”

Myka’s frown deepened, but she wrapped her arms around Selene and tried to lift her. Kaidan saw the exact moment she realized Selene wasn’t going to be moved, saw the panic widen her eyes.

“Go,” he said. “Get back. We’ll be fine. I’m staying with her.”

Myka shook her head and coughed, gagging for breath. “No, this is crazy. You’re going to burn up.”

As if in response, the fire and wind howled. Kaidan blinked, tears stinging his eyes, running down his face in hot streams. He’d assumed he would die, when the dragon attacked. He’d known it in his bones. But Selene had only smiled and told him he’d be fine. That they’d both be fine.

_Do you love her? Do you love Selene?_

The words played in his mind like a song. “I said I’d be what Selene needs me to be,” he yelled over the din of the fire and wind, wiping his face with his grimy sash. “She needs me right here. She’s not going to hurt herself, or me.”

Myka looked over her shoulder where the Companions positioned themselves just outside the smoke, a few of them still calling out, yelling at them to go, to get out of there. Kaidan followed her gaze to where Vilkas stood, poised to run their way, his arms bent at his sides. “Go,” Kaidan yelled, again. “We’ll be fine.”

Myka gave Selene one last desperate look, and then she was gone. If Selene noticed, she didn’t give any indication of it or anything else. She breathed steadily, unaffected by the thick black smoke that threatened to smother Kaidan, and kept watching the fire.

With little more than a loud crackle as a warning, the orange and red flames surged toward them in a wave. Kaidan reacted instinctively—he wrapped his arms around Selene as the flames surrounded them both.

“Can you feel that?” Selene whispered in his ear.

Kaidan opened one eye, then the other. His mouth hung open as well, and he shut it with an audible click. They stood together in a column of flame, whirling in a spiral toward the sky.

“Can you feel it?” Selene said again. Her grip on his hand tightened.

Kaidan shook his head. “No.” The flames didn’t touch them. They weren’t even giving off heat, not anymore. “What is this?”

“Power,” said Selene, simply.

Kaidan watched her face. Her eyes shone brighter for a moment. And then everything stopped—the flames, the shaking, the wind. The smoke cleared too, revealing the dragon, or what was left of it—nothing but bones, clean and white, its flesh and skin and blood…gone.

Selene let go of Kaidan’s hand. She breathed deep of clean, fresh air, and opened her mouth. She said something, a guttural sound, under her breath. It sounded like _yo-ah_ , if that was even a word.

He touched Selene’s shoulder. “What was that?”

Selene lifted her hands in front of her body, her palms out, toward the dragon. Flames rose from the ground, or the sky, or the very air around them. Kaidan wasn’t sure where they came from. They simply appeared—orange and red and gold—and shot toward the bones.


	17. At the End of the Day

“So,” Myka said, tearing apart her apple dumpling and dipping a bit of pastry into the sugary, spicy goo in the middle, “does he know who you are?”

Selene stole a glance around Jorrvaskr’s smoky great room to make sure Kaidan hadn’t sneaked in, that he wasn’t where he could hear her talking about him or even see her lips moving, her face flush. She’d give herself away for sure. But he was nowhere in sight. Selene wasn’t surprised—Eorlund Gray-Mane had volunteered to repair Kaidan’s armor at the Skyforge. “Haven’t seen its like in years,” the old man had said, his eyes shining as he looked over Kaidan’s unique cuirass. And Kaidan had jumped at the chance set his eyes and hands on what might be the oldest structure in Skyrim.

“I’m not sure I know who I am anymore, to be honest,” she muttered, a wry smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. She sipped at her wine—it was delicious, sweet and light and golden in color. Farkas had tipped a sample of it into her goblet earlier that evening, told her they’d received it as a gift from Khajiit traders fresh out of Cyrodiil in appreciation for a raid they’d halted.

She’d pulled her goblet back before he could fill it. “You should save it for a special occasion, then.”

He’d just smiled a slow, lazy smile and placed the bottle on the table. “You tore a dragon from the sky today, and nearly burned down Dragonsreach,” he’d said, his smile growing wider. “Can’t get more special than that.”

Myka stopped chewing. “What? What are you talking about?”

Selene’s gaze ran down Myka’s clothes. She’d hardly recognized the woman out of her armor, at first, but her sky-blue quilted tunic was a good look. She’d paired it with black leggings and tall black boots, and complemented the low neckline with a silver pendant shaped like a birch leaf.

Matter of fact, all the Companions looked different out of their armor. Even Farkas and Vilkas had scrubbed the warpaint from their faces and wore street clothes, reclining near the fire pit, their feet propped up on the big u-shaped dining table. Selene couldn’t help but notice Vilkas’s gaze lighting on Myka more often than anyone else. She’d noticed it in the baths, too, earlier that evening—the Bannered Mare wasn’t the only establishment in town with underground, communal bathing caves. Jorrvaskr’s were larger and warmer, and thanks to a crowd of rowdy warriors excited about bringing down a dragon, much merrier.

A question occurred to her. “You never told me how you met up with the Companions,” Selene said, twirling her chicken skewer this way and that over her plate. She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully—it was delicious as well, brushed with garlic and rosemary and butter. “However you got here, I’m betting you stayed for the food,” she said, taking another bite.

Myka snorted. “Avoiding my questions, are you?”

“Not avoiding.” Selene licked butter from her fingertips. “A tactical delay.” She frowned. “Yesterday I was Dibella’s sibyl,” she said, keeping her voice low. Myka hadn’t told the Companions who she was, and she didn’t want them to find out before she had the chance to tell Kaidan. “People plied me with wine in hopes they’d be drinking it off my body by the end of the evening.” Myka laughed. Selene leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I liked it. It was warm, and…visceral.” She wiggled her goblet. “Farkas gave me this because I tore a dragon from the sky and burned its bones with fire, and I don’t know how one fits with the other. It all seems a bit surreal.”

“You have a point,” Myka said, and shrugged. “Well, Riverwood’s not that far from Whiterun. I made my way here as soon as I was able to travel. I thought it might be the best place to start making inquiries, find survivors from Helgen. And if I didn’t find you, I could send a courier to Argis, let him know what happened.”

Selene nodded. “I had the same idea.”

“I saw the city in the distance—the walls, Dragonsreach. I was almost there. And then, I heard this roaring noise and a bang. Yelling. Cursing,” she said, and grinned, looking across the room at Vilkas. “A giant made its way into a wheat field, and three of the Companions were there, trying to bring it down or maybe get it to leave. But it didn’t look like it wanted to go.”

“And you joined in.”

She nodded. “I shot at it a couple of times. Not good shots.” She tapped on her cheek below her milky eye. “But Aela,” she said, motioning toward a woman with long, red hair, sitting by the firepit, “she invited me to come back to Jorrvaskr. Said she could help train me, get me used to fighting one-eyed. I needed the help,” she said ruefully.

Selene twirled her wine goblet between her hands. “Do you like it here? Do you think you’ll stay?”

“I might.” Myka dunked another piece of pastry and popped it in her mouth. “I never thought about joining up before—a guild, an army, whatever. It wasn’t my thing. But now with dragons about, it seems a good idea to have support.”

Selene tried to avoid Myka’s overly-concerned gaze. “I don’t think Kaidan will leave me alone when I tell him who I am, if that’s what you’re worried about. Even if he does get a bit upset. At first.”

“A bit upset?”

“Well, what would you do if you were…involved with someone?” Selene asked, and shifted in her seat. “And that someone turned out to be the servant of a Divine?”

“Nice try.” Myka snorted. “What you mean is, what if I were head over heels in love with someone—in an oddly short amount of time, even by Skyrim standards—and that someone turned out to be the goddess of love’s representative on Nirn?”

Selene stared into her goblet. “Fuck,” she said, and drained the rest of her wine in one gulp.

Myka stared for a long moment and then laughed, full-throated and loud. She refilled Selene’s goblet from the rose-glass bottle on the table. “Sorry, I never pictured you using that sort of language.”

Selene made a face. “I’m not very good at it,” she said, glancing up at Myka under her lashes. “I sound awkward and…proper.”

“That should be an indicator the night’s not going well, when the sibyl of Dibella worries about sounding proper.” Myka rolled her eyes and sighed, but her expression softened into something sympathetic. “Selene, why didn’t you tell him up front?”

Selene gave her a dark look. “I told you what Ulfric did.”

“But Kaidan’s not Ulfric.”

“I didn’t know that at first. I had good reason to suspect he was connected to something shady. And then I realized I liked him,” she said, mournfully. “I wanted him to like me, too. But for me, not because of Dibella.”

“Honestly,” Myka said, refilling her own goblet, “if you’re having romance problems, what chance do the rest of us have?

Selene slumped heavily in her chair and blew a curl off her face with a loud puff of breath. “So, what would you do? If you were in Kaidan’s shoes?”

Myka peered into the fire. “I suppose I could go a couple of ways. Either I’d be so in love I wouldn’t care, or…”

“Yes?”

“Or I’d worry you put a spell on me,” she said with a wave of her hand. “However that works.”

“It doesn’t work like that at all.” Selene’s spine stiffened with offense. “We don’t compel love.”

“Ah,” Myka said, wagging her finger, “but does he know that?”

Selene wanted to think so. But Kaidan was proud, and stubborn. His reaction when he thought she’d hid Cyrelian’s diary came to mind. Of course, he thought she’d imagined him too weak to bear it. If he concluded she’d hid this secret from him for the same reason…

But was tonight the right time to tell him? He’d already had a bit of a shock that morning. She had too, they all had. Selene remembered what happened with the dragon—the fiery wind that burned it up and took the flesh from its bones, the spark of energy that surged up her spine—remembered it all, but like something out of a dream, misty and hazy with shadows.

Like something not quite real.

At first, she’d sworn it hadn’t been real. It couldn’t have been. She couldn’t shoot fire from her palms or call it from the air. But Myka saw it, and Farkas, and Vilkas.

And Kaidan. His eyes were the first things she saw when she shook herself out of whatever trance she’d been locked into. His beautiful eyes. Crinkled with concern, yes. But also wide with something like bewildered awe. Or fear.

Selene took a drink from her goblet and cleared her throat. “What Jarl Balgruuf said, he thinks I’m this…Dragonborn. His brother seemed sure of it. And Farkas and Vilkas knew exactly what he was talking about. Seemed to be a Nord thing. Do you think it could be true?”

They’d ridden straight to Dragonsreach, after Kaidan made sure she was alright. Farkas had pulled her back onto his giant horse. Kaidan had doubled up with another Companion—Ria was her name, a slip of a girl not much bigger than the longsword she carried—and off they’d gone.

Dragonsreach, too, seemed like a dream. A disjointed mess of fire and shouting and swirls of emotion—battle-lust and envy and pride. She’d faced Jarl Balgruuf and told him what she could, what she remembered.

_“Is this true, what this Breton claims?”_

_Vilkas stepped forward. There…there was the envy. She wondered for a moment if he’d gainsay her, make her look a fool, but he only nodded. “I was there. I saw it. The fire that consumed the dragon sank into her skin,” he said, and met her eyes—his were silvery and cool, like his brother’s. “And she shot it back with nothing but a word.”_

_“A Shout,” Balgruuf said, his voice trembling. Selene felt reverence in his tone, in the word he used to describe what she’d done. “Like the Nords of old. Like Tiber Septim himself.” And there was the pride. He leaned forward on his throne. “Could you do it again? Here?”_

“Every Nord child grows up hearing the stories. Alduin, the Dragonborn,” Myka said, and took a long drink. “But it’s turned into legend. Campfire stories. Or warnings to children—behave or Alduin will eat you. After what you did today, well. It’s strange seeing legends come to life.”

_Selene turned from Balgruuf and took Kaidan’s hand. He led her slowly—her legs felt like jelly—down the stairs from the jarl’s dais to the firepit. The Companions moved back several paces, giving her and the firepit a wide berth._

_Two people stayed where they were—a moustached man in a fine, quilted doublet and a wizard, his hooded blue robes billowing in the fire’s heat. Kaidan gestured toward the Companions with his other hand. “Might want to follow their example.”_

_With a word—a word Selene still didn’t quite understand—fire billowed from the pit, spiraling toward the tall, arched ceiling. It engulfed the iron chandelier hanging above them in a cloud of flame, whooshing and spitting until it gutted out. Selene swore she could hear a dozen heartbeats pounding in the silence, amid the crackle and hiss of embers and burning debris falling around them like rain._

Selene chewed at her lip, and met Myka’s gaze. “So you think it’s true.”

She nodded. “I do.”

They sat in silence and watched Aela whittle with a curved silver knife, turning a piece of white-colored wood into an animal, maybe a bear. Whoops sounded behind them—a muscular Dunmer in nothing but knee-length leggings and a curvy woman still wearing her warpaint started a fistfight. Laughter pealing from the both of them indicated it was a good-natured bout. A silver-haired man with a young, handsome face tapped Farkas on the shoulder. Farkas grinned and let him pull him from his chair. Hand in hand, they disappeared through a door at the far side of the room.

Vilkas looked up from his tankard. Once again, his eyes found Myka. Selene felt Myka’s excitement, her anticipation. Felt her smile. “You wondered about your chances earlier?” Selene briefly met Myka’s eyes. “They’re really, really good.”

Myka’s gaze darted between her and Vilkas. “But—“

“Dibella’s sibyl wouldn’t hold you back from love.” Selene laughed at the horror spreading across Myka’s face. “I wouldn’t hold you back from passion, either. Go!”

Myka pushed herself up from her chair, but still looked hesitant.

“Go,” Selene said again, and smiled, a real smile, despite her worries. It felt good. “Kaidan’ll be back soon.”

Selene watched them walk off together, and took another drink from her goblet. Kaidan _would_ be back soon, and she had a decision to make. She cradled her goblet in her hands and settled in to wait.


	18. Full Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I’m writing while sick, so I fully expect to look back on this chapter in the coming weeks and it be like Lois and Peter singing on Family Guy, where they think they sound amazing, and they’re really just rolling around on the ground and moaning. 
> 
> I think our movers gave us all Covid. My husband tested positive last week, and we’re all miserable.

It was full dark by the time Kaidan left the Skyforge. Eorlund wasn’t finished patching up his armor yet, but it was late and his wife expected him home. Kaidan left his armor in the shed behind the forge to pick up in the morning, and trotted down the stairs toward Jorrvaskr. And Selene.

The Companions had invited them back to Jorrvaskr to get cleaned up, have a little supper, and a lot of mead. Kaidan sampled a bit of everything Jorrvaskr’s surprisingly skilled cook prepared, and took a bottle of mead up to the Skyforge. He wanted to give Selene a little time with Myka; they’d not had the chance to talk properly before the dragon burned up, or before they were rushed to Dragonsreach to make their account. Or, after Selene had been pronounced Dragonborn by the Nords.

Gods, what a fucker of a day.

He raked a hand through his newly-shorn hair. It smelled of fire down the back of his neck, despite washing and rinsing three times. He’d even used Selene’s favorite lavender soap, but the reek of burning skin and hair and scorched metal still stung his nostrils.

He’d been wary, at first, at the very idea of washing up in the caves under Jorrvaskr. Watching Selene splashing and laughing amid a dozen naked warriors wasn’t his idea of a good time. Vilkas and Farkas alone were handsome bastards, too handsome by half. But no one seemed interested in anything more intimate than slapping Selene on the back or wrapping an arm about her shoulders as they led cheer after echoing cheer for the woman who’d brought down a dragon, who’d stripped the very life from its bones.

Selene. His Selene.

Brynjar’d told him stories of the Dragonborn, of course he had—Dragonborn emperors, who kept the fires of Oblivion at bay until, well…until they didn’t anymore. And all of that, fuzzy as it was, was somehow connected to what the Greybeards did atop Snow Throat, teaching the Voice to patient Nords. _Any Man—Nords have a special affinity, of course—can learn to Shout,_ Brynjar’d recited more than once, his sing-song voice slurring around a bottle or six of mead. _But legend writes of another Dragonborn, one with the blood of dragons running through their veins, the shard of a dragon soul tucked in their breast. One to whom the Voice comes as natural as breathing._

Kaidan stubbed his toe on the last step leading up to Jorrvaskr’s veranda, strewn with empty bottles and dirty plates and pieces of discarded armor, and steadied himself on the banister.

Selene.

 _Selene_ was the Dragonborn. _Selene_ was the legendary hero Nord children had grown up hearing about for generations. His Selene. He closed his eyes and saw her, standing before him like a goddess in the baths at the Bannered Mare, her skin warm and wet, her eyes shining and dark.

Kaidan heaved a sigh and trudged to the door and pulled it open, letting it hang ajar behind him. The great room was nearly empty except for a few stragglers around the firepit—he recognized Aela and Ria, the woman who’d given him a ride back to the city that afternoon. And just behind them sat Selene. Or, rather, she was curled up fast asleep in an oversized chair, still wearing her magical dress, its red-gold skirts shimmering like fire in the brazier light—like the flames that whirled around them while the dragon burned, like the flames Selene had snatched from empty air and hurled at the dragon’s bones.

The idea of Selene as a legendary hero wasn’t far-fetched at all—she’d already been his hero, time and time again. It was just…she was so small. So fucking breakable.

His chest tightened and burned. For a moment, he could hardly breathe. A desperate idea clawed its way inside his head—they could leave. Leave Whiterun, leave destiny and legend behind.

Just go.

They’d planned to tour Skyrim amid a civil war and dragon attacks already, what was one more complication? He pictured it in his mind just as he’d pictured it hundreds of times before—him and Selene camping out under golden trees and silver stars, still sharing one bedroll but making far better use of it than sleeping. Or riding horseback through the Rift’s green valleys, a southern sun warming their shoulders.

His eyes burned—he should have taken her with him this morning, instead of leaving alone, in a cloud of shame and cowardice. Now? Now it was far too late.

Earlier that afternoon, Jarl Balgruuf sent guards to the Bannered Mare to collect their things. They were to be guests of Dragonsreach “for the foreseeable future,” the jarl had said, in a voice that left Kaidan in no doubt it was an order rather than an invitation.

“We don’t know why the dragons have come back,” Balgruuf had continued. His court wizard—a wily Nord called Farengar who seemed a little too excited about all the fire and destruction for Kaidan’s liking—nodded in agreement over stacks of dusty books and scrolls. “But if a Dragonborn has been called, it can’t be mere happenstance. General Tullius sent a courier last week, reporting a dragon sighting off the coast of Solitude. Jarl Korir confirms multiple sightings in Winterhold. Of course, there’s Helgen—annihilated, hundreds dead. And now this,” he shook his head heavily, and turned his gimlet gaze toward Selene. “It appears they’re not going away.”

If dragons kept coming, their golden forests wouldn’t be golden much longer, their green valleys no longer green. Even if the jarl let them leave, even if Whiterun’s guards let them pass through the gate, where would they go? If dragons kept coming, there would be nowhere, nowhere to run.

Kaidan made his way through the great room and leaned over Selene’s chair. He planted a kiss on her forehead. She stirred awake, lifting her lids halfway and giving him a sleepy smile that warmed him to his toes.

Gods, his heart…

_You don’t deserve her._

He still didn’t. Now, more than ever.

“You’re back,” she said, and yawned, her eyes fluttering. “Ready to go?”

He nodded and smiled. Before she could sit up and put her feet down, he scooped her out of the chair, holding her close to his chest.

“I could get used to this,” she said, and yawned again, resting her head in the crook of his chest. “Are you going to carry me all the way to Dragonsreach?”

“I could,” he said and found himself yawning too. “Although we might fall into the moat around the palace if I don’t wake up.”

Her laugh rang out as they swept across the great room and out the door into the starlit night. 

* * *

Something was bothering Selene. He’d felt her shift in his arms, as he’d carried her across the bridge to Dragonsreach, felt her fingers grip the front of his tunic like she was holding on for life. Not five minutes before, she’d been laughing, smiling up at him. Pointing out the green and silver aurora shining over the mountains. Daring him to carry her up the stairs and over the moat to the palace. Daring him to jump in, still holding her.

Kaidan had laughed. “One of these days when being thrown in jail for drunk and disorderly is our biggest worry, maybe I’ll take you up on it.”

That’s when her smile had faded, a shadow dimming her eyes. “You alright?” he’d asked. “This Dragonborn business getting to you?”

But she’d only shaken her head a little sadly and pressed her lips to his chest, warm and soft through the thin linen. “Not a bit,” she’d said. “I’ll be fine.”

But watching her fidget around the room Balgruuf had forced them into, he wasn’t so sure. It was a nice room, at least—rooms, actually. “A suite,” the steward had pronounced, looking down his nose at them like he was handing a purse of gold to a beggar.

The jarl’s brother, Hrongar, had apologized. “He’s Imperial, is Avenicci,” he’d muttered, his solemn gaze panning slowly between Kaidan and Selene. “And unfamiliar with our ways.”

Kaidan had nodded politely. But he was no Nord, either. No Atmoran ice ran in his veins—the very idea of prancing shirtless around Dragonsreach like Hrongar and Balgruuf sent shivers up his back. And Selene with her five-foot-nothing expanse of light brown skin tinged with gold, evidence of her ancient Altmer ancestry, could be nothing but Breton.

But like the warriors of Jorrvaskr, Whiterun’s Nord nobles seemed to sweep them into the fold with no questions asked. Kaidan could have done with fewer locks on the pen, but if they were going to be kept like prize sheep, at least their quarters were comfortable.

They shared a bedroom, dominated by a stone fireplace that took up the far wall, its fire burning down to embers in its iron grate. The bed was accordingly massive and curtained in the same green velvet that draped the windows. A short hallway led to a stiltedly formal sitting room, its tightly stuffed chairs and polished tables leading Kaidan to suspect it had never been sat in at all.

According to Balgruuf, the suite had stood empty for months, reserved for visiting jarls or foreign dignitaries. But no one ranked higher than the Dragonborn, Balgruuf had said, his shrewd smile lighting his eyes with a greedy glint. Nothing much got past that one. He’d have to watch out for the jarl, make sure he didn’t endanger Selene. It wasn’t that he thought Balgruuf was evil, no. Just a man in power who wanted to keep that power. And if he could use Selene’s status of Dragonborn to do it, he wouldn’t think twice.

Selene flung open the doors to a wardrobe near the sitting room and stood back to scan its shelves. Kaidan noted their satchels, still dusty from the road. He’d expected the rest of its shelves to stand empty. But folded clothing was stacked there, too, in various colors. Boots and shoes—large and small—lined the wardrobe’s floor. Selene ran her fingers over a stack and pulled something out, something soft-looking and white. She gave him a shy smile and took it into the sitting room, her fiery skirts trailing behind her.

Of course, Selene didn’t need a wardrobe full of clothes when she could magick them up herself, did she?

Kaidan sighed against a wave of exhaustion that seemed to come from out of nowhere. His eyelids drooped heavy against his burning eyes; he leaned against the bed and kicked off his boots. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, this tiredness. He’d been up since before dawn, not having slept at all last night. And he’d nearly died fighting a dragon, of course.

Fire flickered behind his eyes. He could still feel it on his skin, white-hot against his neck, boiling the vapor in his lungs, the blood in his veins. He pushed himself up on the bed and lay back against the pillow. Eyes squeezed shut, he forced the flames to fade, forced everything out of his mind until nothing was left but darkness, still and cool and soft.

* * *

Selene woke to darkness, soft and cool on her skin. As soft as the sheets she’d slept on, she thought, yawning and sweeping a hand over the bed.

Alarm tightened her chest. The space where Kaidan had fallen asleep—still fully dressed, on top of the blankets—was smooth and flat.

Again.

_He wouldn’t leave me. Not again. Not after…_

Selene’s heart jumped to her throat. She closed her eyes and _reached_. Twinges of fear and worry twisted like thorns, somewhere close by. Selene’s own panic slowly receded and she breathed a sigh of relief. He was there, in the room, at least. And anxiety and fear was expected, after a day like yesterday. A dragon had nearly killed him, could have killed them both, but for Dibella’s influence.

Kaidan had writhed against the grass, screaming, his back arching under pain she couldn’t fathom. Selene’s magic hadn’t even come close to healing him. It hadn’t been enough—her healing magic was meant for comfort and warmth, not for bringing someone back from the brink of death. So she’d closed her eyes, blocking out the roars of the dragon and her own pounding heart, and begged for help.

“It’s not enough,” she’d cried, gazing up at her Goddess, relief that Dibella had answered at all filling her eyes with hot tears. “I don’t have the magic, I don’t have the power. He’s hurt, he’s dying. Please…”

Dibella’d knelt beside her and tipped up her chin with a perfectly manicured hand. “Do you truly love him? Enough to face a dragon for him?”

“I can’t fight a dragon,” Selene said, and batted Dibella’s hand away. “I told you before, I don’t have any weapons.”

“Do you love him?” Dibella repeated, Her sapphire eyes dancing with stars. Selene stared. Was this truly necessary, this interrogation? Would Dibella only help if Selene loved Kaidan? It seemed uncharitable. But when Selene answered, she had no trouble answering true.

“I love him,” Selene said, her voice rising. “I can’t lose him.” Her hands tightened to fists at her sides. “I won’t lose him.”

Dibella had blinked then, distracted, and even looked over Her shoulder at…nothing, as far as Selene could see. Just an expanse of black, darker than the night sky. But a moment later, She was smiling back at Selene, as though Selene had complimented Her hair rather than beg for Kaidan’s life.

“If you love him, the solution is simple. Love is not a feeling. You know this. Love is a force of nature. Love is the closest thing to chaos this side of Oblivion. It’s a purple butterfly drawn for your father. Or spending your magic on a little frog. Or a gift of pink wool socks.”

Selene frowned. “But—“

“It’s taking things we think fit nowhere, broken pieces, pieces that don’t match, and creating something beautiful with them,” She said, Her smile gentle. “Something no one expects.”

“But what about the dragon? I don’t have the magic, and I can’t defeat that monster with a drawing of a damned butterfly.”

“That dragon doesn’t belong here, Selene,” Dibella said, Her expression darkening. Selene hoped the cause was the subject matter rather than her own irreverent language, but she didn’t have the energy to guard her tongue. “It doesn’t fit your world. Doesn’t match. Take it, and use it. Create something beautiful.”

Dibella had cradled her chin in Her hands and kissed her forehead. “Remember who you are,” She’d whispered. And Selene was back in the field at Kaidan’s side, a warm, golden light shimmering in her hands.

And the knowledge of how to save him dancing in her head.

She sat up in bed, the silk of her robe tickling her skin as it slipped from her shoulders. She could go to him, naked and warm from sleep. Kaidan desired her—there could be passion at least, even without the truth. There’d been enough passion last night, in the baths…

_And look how that ended up._

The men and women who’d shared her bed in Markarth were passionate. Selene had loved every moment of their time together, knowing they’d be gone, back to their daily lives, the next morning. As well, she’d spent long, languorous nights with her Sisters, knowing they’d be her companions for the rest of their lives.

But with Kaidan, she knew nothing. Nothing was secure, nothing predictable.

A wave of the same self-loathing she’d felt from him on the road curled around her like poisonous smoke, and she jumped up from the bed and pulled the curtains back. Kaidan sat cross-legged in front of a low, flickering fire. She knotted the robe’s sash around her waist and padded across the floor.

His back stiffened, his fingers curled tightly around a toasting fork he held in one hand. “I need to stop waking you up like this.”

“Last time you woke me in the middle of the night, I stopped you reading Cyrelian’s diary by yourself. I consider that sleep well lost,” she said, lowering herself to sit beside him. She nodded toward the bowl of berries by his knee. “What are you going to do with those?”

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. He speared a blackberry on one tine of the toasting fork, followed by a raspberry, and another blackberry. “Found these in the sitting room,” he said, repeating the pattern on the other tine. “I haven’t done this in years.”

He lowered the toasting fork over the fire, twirling it slowly. Selene pursed her lips. “You’re going to toast those berries?”

“Brynjar took me out in the woods on my thirteenth birthday. For an adventure, he’d said. We hiked the full day out of the valley where we lived, halfway up the side of a mountain. We camped and told stories. Cooked over the fire,” he said, his eyes on the darkening berries. “Pheasant and quail we’d caught, and wild berries. He gave me a bottle of mead, said it was the first one I could finish on my own.” He grinned at her. “I’d been sneaking them for years, but I didn’t tell him that. Next morning I woke up on my own. Brynjar was gone.”

“What? Was he alright?”

Kaidan snorted. “‘Course he was. Left me a flint and an empty waterskin and a note—see you back home.”

Selene bristled. “He left you on the side of a mountain with nothing but a rock and a bit of leather and you’re supposed to make it back home alive?” The scenario seemed more than ridiculous. “At thirteen? You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I made it, didn’t I?” He said, and chuckled. “I can laugh now. But at the time, I wasn’t so confident. I got lost the first day, and it snowed. I made a shelter out of some pine boughs. Built a little fire. But I fell asleep and ended up burning down the shelter. I got trapped, and…”

Selene listened to him trail off, watched him stare into the fire. Juice from one of the berries sizzled in the flames, and he slid them off the fork onto a plate. He sprinkled them with a bit of sugar and offered them to her. “They’re good,” he said. “Brynjar and I roasted berries every time we camped.”

She took a blackberry and tentatively placed it between her teeth, crushing the skin. Sugary syrup spilled onto her tongue, sweet and tart and a little smoky. She closed her eyes, the tartness swelling as she chewed, sending shivers through her jaw and down her neck. “I never want to eat berries any other way from now on.”

He pulled his gaze from the fire and met hers. “Before the dragon, this morning. You were going to tell me how you knew. About my past.”

Selene nodded, the sweet berry turning sour in her mouth.

“I wondered, later. How you knew. How you took down a dragon and healed me at the same time. How you changed clothes, there in the field. While you were unconscious.” He rolled a raspberry between his fingers and popped it in his mouth. “And now you’re Dragonborn. After finding that out, I stopped questioning for a bit.”

And there it was. She wouldn’t get a more perfect segue. She took a deep breath. “It’s not just that,” she said carefully. “I need to tell you—“

“No,” he said, shaking his head. Another wave of self-loathing rose from him, but this time it battled with something else, something warm and sweet. _Love, desire._ It shone from his eyes despite his considerable effort to squash it. “This is going to be hard enough for you, dealing with politics and jarls and…I don’t even know what. You deserve to have people around you, people you can trust. I want you to trust me. So even if you think you know about my past, about what I’ve done, I have to explain. Will you listen?”

Selene stared. The corners of her mouth quirked. “You think talking to jarls and other assorted nobles is the difficult part?”

But Kaidan didn’t smile back. “Fine,” she said. “If this is what it’s going to take to make you see…” She sighed and settled beside him, her legs crossed like his under her voluminous robe. “You can go first.”

She watched Kaidan gaze into the fire and nod slowly, as though he was about to draw his sword, meet a challenge to the death. “I already told you most of it. But not the worst part.” He shuddered. “I didn’t lie—the gang I fell in with, violence and killing was their creed. They reveled in it. What I didn’t mention was why. Of course, you already know. They called themselves the Blooded Dawn, fancied themselves followers of Mehrunes Dagon.”

“Did they…worship Mehrunes Dagon?” Selene ate another blackberry and tried to keep her voice level. “Did you?”

“I’d like to say no. There were no temples, of course. No altars. I’ve never been a religious man, so I thought I was only in it for the drink, the coin. But true worship of Mara isn’t kneeling in a temple. It’s showing compassion and being a good husband, a good father. Making a warm home,” he said, and shrugged. “I worshipped Mehrunes Dagon every time I raided a warehouse or burned a caravan. Every time I sent someone running from the threat of my sword, their home gone, everything they owned...”

Selene imagined it, Kaidan, stalking his prey in his night-black armor, his red eyes flashing, that ebony sword catching glints of flame. She couldn’t help it, her eyes widened. A wave of shame crumpled Kaidan’s face. “You see now why I tried to leave? I didn’t want you to see me like that. Even in your imagination.”

“Kaidan.” She cursed under her breath and scooted closer to him. “This is not necessary—“

“It is,” he said, and pushed himself back, out of her reach. “Please, just let me get this out. And then…” he forced his gaze back to the fire. “And then…”

 _And then you can tell me to leave._ Selene knew that was what he wanted to say. But she only nodded, and clenched her hands into fists in her lap. “Alright,” she said, through teeth clenched just as tightly. “Go on.”

“That’s the sort of shit we pulled, every night. Just violent people justifying what we did, and enjoying it, too. Until one night,” he said, his voice almost breaking. He cleared his throat. “We were all drunk, high. We’d spent the day on the bottle or the pipe. But Rosalind…” he shuddered again. “Rosalind told us about a job. Fat purse. Only condition was, we’d have to kill to get it.”

He took a drink from a goblet on the hearth and stretched his arm out, passing it to her. She took a drink and set it back down.

“‘Course, we’d killed before, it wasn’t a line we were afraid to cross,” he said, and grabbed the poker from the hearth. “When you’re driven to take what’s rightfully another’s, you can plan on some violence along the way. So we were in, all of us. But when we got there, the plan had changed.”

He flinched, a wave of pain sweeping his eyes. “It wasn’t a hideout, there were no marauders. Not another gang like us. It wasn’t even a wealthy warehouse or shop. It was just a little farm, Selene,” he said, catching her eye and quickly looking away. “A family lived there. Kids. I thought there’d been a mistake. Assumed we’d fall back. I crept back to Rosalind, told her we needed to go. There wasn’t money there, it wasn’t a wealthy farm. She just looked at me and smiled.”

He broke off and jabbed the logs with the poker. Goosebumps surged over Selene’s arms and back in waves.

“I told you how Rosalind drew me in. She must have sensed it—I was someone who’d do what she wanted without question, so long as she gave me what I needed—a place to belong. Someone who loved me,” he said, and broke off with a brittle laugh. “I thought it was love, anyway. But when she looked at me that night, I knew. She’d planned it, all of it. When I refused to go long, she set everyone on me. I knew it was coming, and they still caught me off guard. So, I screamed as loud as I could, tried to warn them off. But Rosalind did some sort of magic. Bound me there, against a tree. I couldn’t say another word. Couldn’t open my mouth at all. I could only listen. What they did in that house. To that family. I heard every bit of it. Every scream. Every cry. Every plea for mercy.”

Selene’s eyes burned and her stomach lurched, sending bile up the back of her throat. Kaidan had killed people. Robbed people. Taken their livelihoods, alongside those he’d called friends. Lovers. She watched him stare into the fire, tears streaming down his face.

_I can no longer serve Dibella like I know I should without understanding—what sort of desperation drives a man to kill a stranger? What drives people to treat those they love like useless trash?_

Her own words came back to her unbidden, words spoken when she was still the Sibyl in Markarth. Back when the sort of life Kaidan had lived was as foreign to her as hunger or thirst, or cold.

Or dragons.

She suddenly felt tired, as though she’d aged decades since leaving Markarth.

“The binding wore off later,” Kaidan said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. Selene started, and Kaidan met her gaze again, quickly, and turned back to the fire. “What seemed like hours later, after everything was…was quiet. I ran. They were all still inside, doing gods knew what. I ran back to our quarters and grabbed the rest of my gear and got on the road. But after awhile, my legs felt heavy. I could hardly breathe. I had to stop.”

Selene frowned. “Was it the magic? Remnants of the binding?”

Kaidan shook his head. “It was guilt. Too little, too late for that family, but I had to do something. So I ran back. Rosalind wasn’t there, and without her magic, I made short work of the rest of them. They’d never harm an innocent person again, I made sure of it. But as I was leaving…”

“She came in,” Selene finished, leaning forward, her breath catching in her lungs. 

Kaidan nodded. “And even then, even then I wanted her approval. Even then, I tried to get her to choose me. I asked her to come with me,” he said, his voice like steel, and poked the logs so fiercely the bottom one collapsed in a heap of sparks and embers. “Don’t know what madness gripped me. But it didn’t work. She laughed at me. Didn’t bother binding me again, just conjured some sort of fire—not a normal fire. Not even what you shot at that dragon. This came straight from Oblivion. Stuck to me like paste, seeped under my armor. Gods,” he said, and dropped the poker, raking his hands over his face. “That finally woke me up. I didn’t see her do it, you see. Didn’t see her hurt that family, so I suppose I tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. But that fire was real. Gods, it hurt. Just like…”

“Like…like the dragon,” Selene whispered. A chill swept over her neck. She didn’t remember much about the moment she’d absorbed the dragon’s life force. About the moment the Companions had recognized her as Dragonborn. Farkas told her on the way back to Whiterun what she’d done. She’d walked into flames as the dragon had burned. Let the flames swirl around her.

And she’d dragged Kaidan with her. Through fire. Shame washed her in a cold sweat.

He nodded again. “I managed to stay on my feet. Draw my sword. I stabbed her through the heart and the fire went out. I found a few healing potions and downed them, and left. After what seemed like days, I stumbled onto a healer’s cabin at the edge of the woods.”

Tears burned Selene’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Kaidan—“

“I understand if you want me to go, I do. Now that I said it out loud. Damn,” he said, his voice sounding artificially bright. Almost casual. He reached across the hearth and grabbed the goblet, draining it in one swallow. “It sounds even worse than it did in my head.”

Selene shook her head. “You’re not that man anymore. I know you’re not.”

“How do you know that?” The brightness in his voice darkened. His question came out in a snarl. “You don’t know about me, more than I’ve told you. And what I’ve told you doesn’t lend itself to a good impression,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “You’re looking at me with so much love.” He nearly spat out the word. “I see it in your eyes. I know it. Somehow I know how you feel, and I-I don’t deserve it. That family, Selene—“

“You didn’t know,” she said, rising up on her knees and taking his hands. This time he didn’t pull away. “You couldn’t have done anything to help.”

“I could have done better, before. Could have opened my eyes to what Rosalind was, rather than just seeing what I wanted to see. I could have sought a life that wasn’t all about taking and killing.”

“What other life did you know?”

Kaidan raised her hand to his mouth, and pressed a kiss on the knuckle of her heart finger. “Brynjar raised me rough, and he wasn’t always there. And no, he didn’t display spectacular coping skills. But he made a promise to my mother to raise me—a boy who wasn’t his. And he did it, honorably. He may not have been a conventional father, but he was my friend. And how I lived the years after he died? All I did was shit over his memory.”

A shiver went up Selene’s spine. Kaidan’s eyes flashed. “I could have done better,” he said, his words heavy with finality, and laced with loathing.

Selene looked around and saw the bottle of wine tucked at the back of the hearth. She poured a small amount into the goblet and swallowed it. “You’re probably right,” she said. “I’m not going to convince you otherwise. But why did you stay with me today? When I pulled you into the fire?” She shrugged at Kaidan’s blank look. “Farkas told me what I did. I dragged you into the flames. Pulled you with me and wouldn’t let you or Myka take me away. But you were still standing with me when it was all over. You had your hand in mine. You never left. Not for a second.”

Kaidan opened his mouth and let it hang open for a moment before he shut it. He stared at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, tears filling her eyes again. “That dragon burned you alive, and what Rosalind did—a woman you loved—“

“Thought I loved,” he said, his hands tightening in hers. “It wasn’t love.”

She shook her head and gazed up at him, feeling a tear burn its way down her cheek. “I’m no better than she was.”

Everything he was feeling shattered like glass, the pieces melting into each other, flowing and molten. “Don’t ever say that,” he said, his eyes shining with the same love he’d recognized in hers. “You knew it wouldn’t hurt me. You wouldn’t do it otherwise. You’re not her.” He crushed her against his chest. “You are not her.”

Selene listened to his heartbeat and let everything he was feeling for her wrap her in an embrace nearly as warm as his arms. “I could have done better, too. I should have shielded you from those flames rather than pulling you into them. I should have protected you,” she said, and pulled back, just enough to see his face. She rested a hand on his jaw. “But you didn’t leave me. You’d been burned already, and still you stayed. That’s how I know you’re not that man anymore.”

His emotions warred inside him, waves of hot grief and hatred and resentment still flowed like molten glass. The love he felt for her couldn’t quite temper it, and Selene didn’t expect it to. Dibella’d told her as much, of course—she could save him from a dragon, but she couldn’t save him from himself.

But at the center of it all, she felt something else. Something tiny and faint, but there nonetheless, shining in the darkness and waiting, waiting for Kaidan to notice it. To see its worth, to pick it up and clasp it to his heart, just as tightly as he held her.

One small, shining spark of hope. 


End file.
